Fast Forward
by SilverInspiration
Summary: Joe wanted very little, just to pass into quiet obscurity. Fate had other plans however, with the country on the brink of war between good and evil, only he can find the one who can save it. Joe is forced to learn one of life's lessons...love hurts. AU
1. A Crumbling Society

A/N: This is an extremely AU story, just to warn you in advance. It's set about twenty years from the 'Casefile' time line and delves deep into what a war between good (the Network) and evil (the Assassins) would do to the country. Some aspects may seem like a stretch and I am sorry for that, but I am really just being creative here. Everything involving the Benders is completely of my own creation as well. I hope you will read, review, and enjoy the story to come. It is 100 percent complete so I should post chapters regularly.

P.S.- sorry to those Frank-ettes out there but this is a fairly Joe-centric story.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardys or any other characters, only any OC's that pop up and my plot.

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**Fast Forward**

Preface:

Gather 'round. I'm about to tell you a story. It's a good story, though truth be told, the tale is probably wearing a little thin for some of you, but it's important, so I'm gonna tell it again.

Don't roll your eyes at me, one day you'll understand. In the meantime, sit down and shut up.

Once upon a time, there was an evil empire that was hellbent on destroying the world. They simply called themselves the Assassins eventually led by an even more irate group only known as IDA.

Their crime wasn't a crime of hatred...nor of jealousy. Far worse, they raped the earth out of a willful ignorance, and a lack of regard. Perhaps, at first, they did what they did out of a genuine wish to better humanity, but as with all such empires, when the focus became the pursuit of power, and when the question being asked as new technology was developed stopped being should I do it and started being _can_ I do it, they lost their place in the sun.

As with all such empires, there arose a group of people who'd had enough, who decided to fight back. They were a misfit crew, such a group of oddballs as you'd never hope to see, but they had what it took to take down any empire. They soon formed the Network.

But along with these two forces of evil, another blood line prevailed. Heirs known as the Benders who had been hidden in the shadows of the world for centuries. Blood lines dating back to every great mind in history. Forming a society.

But the one thing that fuels our greatest triumphs and aspirations, that keeps our planet moving is hope.

The Empire--IDA--was understandably upset about the existence of a group of people who's purpose was to destroy them, and so it sent all manner of weapons against them. One of these weapons turned on its masters and destroyed them, and then turned it's attention to the planet. Why did it turn on them? Maybe it was a little too evil...maybe it was a little too crazy...or maybe, like its creators, it just didn't care about anything but itself. The end result was that this little group of oddball rebels, who'd lost comrades and suffered terrible trials, became an oddball group of saviors. Ultimately, hope won out over apathy, good triumphed over evil, and the planet was saved.

The lesson to be learned is this... happiness isn't forever, but neither is grief. When you find happiness, you latch onto it, and you spread it around... and that makes it all the more precious.

But not everything ends with 'happily ever after.' For some still survived. Assassins still prevailed and managed to reek havoc underneath the Network's skin. And even after the war between good and evil ended, chaos still invaded the country. The cities, destroyed. Numerous small towns were spared, and this is where Bayport, Massachusetts comes into play. The only East Coast city in decent enough repair to harbor the central communications of the Network.

That's one of the most important things you can learn. That and this; happiness isn't forever, but love can be...and love and hope are just two sides of the same coin.

That's where I'll start my real tale...a story about a hero who's not a hero, a heroine who's not a heroine, and the lesson they learned...

Some might say, quite in spite of themselves...

***

Dust. It all comes back to dust--the traveler thought. His black boots were caked with it, the air seemed full of it, and if he looked inside, deep inside, which he seldom did anymore because the way was guarded by demons, he was at least subconsciously afraid that all he'd find there was dust.

Dust in the shape of a heart.

It was blisteringly hot, summer in full bloom, and an observer might have stared oddly at the traveler. He walked with a steady gait, one that could not be labeled as lazy, his long legs eating up the ground in graceful loping strides, but certainly not in any particular hurry, as though he had no place important to go. He kept his eyes on the road, ignoring the famed coastal country-side as though its natural beauty was painful for him, though it would be foolish to think he was oblivious; the way he carried himself proved this illusion to be false.

His clothing was ill-suited to a trek in the summer countryside, black combat boots, black pants and long-sleeve black shirt, with a tattered cloak thrown over the ensemble almost as an after thought, a cloak that partially hid his face but not his brooding eyes. The eyes of this traveler were quite striking...a most unnatural shade of blue, like sapphires embedded in the paleness of his face.

His only concession to the heat was a red headband to keep the sweat from his eyes, though truth be told, it was more likely to just to keep his hair out of his face should he have to move quickly. His arms he had folded inside the cloak, so that neither was visible, though it was doubtful this was to give them shade. The road to town was not an overly dangerous one, though it certainly couldn't be called safe either, but the traveler's only--apparent--insurance against the perils of the unknown was a long barrel rifle slung across his back, its surface weathered but obsessively well cared for, unlike his travel-stained and well worn clothing. A series of incongruous oddities that all added up to one enigmatic stranger.

Joseph Hardy.

***

One might occasion to wonder what one of the heroes of the Network was doing living as a shiftless wanderer, alone and seemingly known to no one. It was not that he didn't have anywhere to stay, on the contrary, if Joe considered anyone approaching what he would call friends, it was the other members of the Network, and any one of them would most likely have given the contrary gunman a place to rest his head.

Certainly enough of them, Frank and Tony, Biff...even the Grey Man had tentatively offered him a place to stay. He had, in his quiet, elusive way, turned them all down, and if they seemed both a bit saddened and relieved at the same time, he didn't blame them. He understood their trepidation; indeed, he shared it. Joe's life was a tightrope of control...he was, after all, a man with very pushy inner demons, and they didn't always restrain themselves to tormenting only him.

So it was after the final destruction of IDA and most Assassins when the heroes of the Network scattered, some together, most individually, to the four winds, Joe found himself alone again. Understandably, he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself, if anything, though he'd promised a concerned Frank that he wouldn't return to that dilapidated old house and the cold bedroom. This hadn't been a hard promise to make, Joe had no intention of ever returning to that place. It was too full of memories...of old pain and encroaching madness, screams unheard in the dark, to be a comfortable place to spend eternity.

Perhaps he was being selfish, putting all of his friends and countless innocents in danger by not locking himself away, but the former Joe couldn't face the ghosts the house on Elm street held for him, of enemies and victims. And the price he'd paid, was still paying, for his lack of humanity.

So he became a vagabond, a shadow that passed by for just a moment, haunting the roads and the wilds going no place in particular, and staying there for too fleetingly to make any lasting impressions. He survived on odd jobs...murderers here and there that needed killing, criminals on the run from one authority or another that needed catching...ultimately he fell back on the only thing he'd ever really been good at...hunting and killing. (His brother would argue with him on that fact.)

Though admittedly, this time his targets were monsters and scum. Sometimes you had to fight fire with fire, after all.

Truthfully, he was getting a little tired of sleeping on the cold ground with only his own brooding thoughts for company. That and supplies were starting to run a little low. Not critically, but Joe was nothing if not detail oriented, and he preferred being prepared over lying in a ditch somewhere.

Bayport wasn't his first choice for a stopping point, but it wasn't his last choice either, and it was close. It'd have to do.

***

Approaching the town of Bayport, he was once again struck by the city's character. It had a tidy aesthetic, a martial sort of charm, functional and orderly, but with graceful lines and pleasingly tasteful architecture. It was a city with a history, and it appealed to the need for organization and the sense of solemnity in Joe's tired soul. He liked Bayport, if only because it seemed to move at a slower pace than the outside world.

Something was wrong however, and Joe picked up on this as soon as the city came into view. Guards, fearsome with their submachine guns, patrolled the walls, and there was a line to enter the city. Joe waited patiently for his turn to enter, enduring the oppressive heat, and ignoring the curious stares of those ahead and behind him in line. He drew the wary eyes of both guards when he stepped forward for his turn.

"Name please," one of them asked, the very picture of diligent authority. What was going on here?

"Hardy," Was his short reply. The guard scribbled the name down in his log.

"Reason for visiting?" The guard shifted uncomfortably. The tall stranger before him was pretty well armed...a bounty hunter or a mercenary, neither of which was very welcome in Bayport, especially now.

Joe considered ignoring the guard's question, but it occurred to him that this man was only doing his job, and antagonizing the proper authorities was a good way to draw unwanted attention to one's self.

"Supplies. A place to stay for the night," he muttered quietly.

"We don't want any trouble, Mr. Hardy," the guard cautioned. "You keep that weapon where it's at, you hear?"

Joe nodded curtly and stepped past the guard, into the city itself.

***

The streets were silent, which, while a welcome change to the normal cacophony that greeted his ears when he entered a city, did not ease his state of mind over much.

Bayport was normally very friendly to travelers, as Mayor Bender had done her damnedest to turn the city into a hot tourism spot, with marginal success. After the events of IDA, Bender had been quick to capitalize on her daughter's newfound fame (or infamy, depending on your point of view...while it was hard to stay angry at someone who'd saved the planet, it was also hard to forgive someone who'd been robbing people blind since her preadolescence) and had even, so Joe had heard, included her residence as one stopping point on the tours.

Joe idly wondered how Vanessa had taken this particular arrangement.

Today however, store owners who would normally be trying to out-shout one another for the pleasure of doing business with him were conspicuous in their absence, and the few passersby he encountered eyed him warily, as though they half expected him to begin firing his weapons randomly into buildings. He ignored these suspicious stares but noted them, and crossed the street to slip inside a reasonably priced drinking establishment.

The dimly lit coolness of the taproom was a welcome change to the oppressive heat and atmosphere of the city's exterior. Joe, never overly fond of social gatherings of any type (particularly lynch or torch-carrying mobs, but that's another story) nevertheless found himself almost comfortable in a bar's social setting. Here he was able to settle down to drink at his own pace, and let humanity's dull roar wash over him in an almost soothing murmur.

Joe was a good listener, and he entertained himself by listening to the various stories floating past him. Leaning his gun against the side of the bar within easy reach, he quietly ordering a gin and tonic minus the gin, and ignored the curious stares of the bartender and the various patrons who had watched him enter until they shrugged and returned to their various drinks. Receiving his tonic, he wrapped his hand around the glass and brought it up to his lips, savoring the bitter scent that wafted up from it as he took a sip.

This sort of quiet anonymity was about as close as Joe came to enjoying himself.

As usual, it was cut dismally short.

Conversation stopped dead as a pair of guards entered the establishment and swept their serious gaze over the inside of the bar. Squinting from the sudden change in light level, they were nonetheless able to immediately pick out the solitary figure at the bar quietly sipping a tonic water.

Joe sighed inwardly as the guards made a beeline for him. He hadn't turned around when they entered, and he had hoped they'd simply stopped by for lunch.

It was 3:00 pm, but one could hope, couldn't one?

"Mr. Hardy?" one of the guards asked brusquely, as guards often do, when tasked with a duty they deem onerous.

Joe closed his eyes and breathed in the bitter scent again. "I haven't done anything wrong."

The other guard started to open his mouth, irritation written across his features, but the older, wiser of the two stopped him with a hard look. The older guard sighed deeply and shook his head. "We never said you did. Mayor Bender requests a moment of your time."

"I stopped doing requests a long time ago," Joe muttered quietly.

"My apologies Mr. Hardy, but this is not a request that can be ignored, if you wish to remain a guest in our fair city," the guard returned.

"Ah. One of those requests," he said, in a tone that might have been considered dry, if Joe were a bit more vocally animated.

The younger guard growled and reached for Joe's shoulder. "Enough of this! Mayor Bender wishes t-"

He stopped dead when a skeletal, pale white hand encircled his wrist right before it touched the gunman's shoulder.

"I heard you. Allow me to finish my tonic in peace," Joe said softly, his eyes still closed.

The strength in the grip and the sharpness of the nails tipping the hand were not lost on the young guard, who gulped uneasily. "Er... certainly Mr. Hardy."

Joe released the man's wrist and the guard snatched his hand back as though he'd just put it in a behemoth's mouth.

Joe finished his drink in peace, but the quiet tranquility of the moment had vanished like a soap bubble in the rain.

***

Joe had no sooner set down the empty cup when the guards began herding him towards the door. Quickly paying his bill, he picked up his gun and shouldered it, then allowed himself to be ushered outside and down the stone streets to the large house that was Mayor Bender's place of residence. The trip passed in silence, the guards being sufficiently cowed by this strange individual in their charge, and Joe was not exactly the sort for idle chitchat. Instead, he took note of the abundance of personal servants in various colors passing to and fro like worker bees on the fly.

All of this information was quickly noted, assessed, and filed away by the silent man, who appeared to be doing a detailed study of his boot tops.

Joe was unsure what Mayor Bender wanted with him, but he was reasonably sure he wasn't going to like it. Unlike some of the other members of the Network, Joe hadn't capitalized on his newfound fame, and over time, he'd faded into the background of the legend, which was the way he liked it. He felt uncomfortable being praised for ending a threat to the planet that he had more or less had a hand in creating, at least in his own eyes. While the name Frank Hardy and the Grey Man were almost universally known, Joseph Hardy would raise very few eyebrows, if any.

Still...perhaps it was just a social call. A passing interest in one of her daughter's former comrades-in-arms.

Speaking of which...where was the aforementioned daughter? Not that Joe felt any pressing need to see her, of course. She'd been one of the more annoyingly outspoken members of the group, and she had a nickname for him that irritated him to no end. Still, he admitted to at least a passing interest in how she had weathered the last two years...she would be what now...30? 31?

He was stopped outside the entrance to Andrea's personal meeting chambers by a large guard, who stared at Joe impassively with his large arms folded over his barrel chest.

"You may leave your weapons with me," he rumbled immediately.

Joe eyed the man quietly, and to his credit, the large man did not wince from his oddly tinged gaze.

The man narrowed his eyes. "You will not be permitted to enter Mayor Bender's presence with those items on your person."

Joe continued to stare. "I wasn't the one who requested a meeting," he said finally, when it became obvious the man was not going to budge.

The large man snorted, then cracked his knuckles menacingly. "If I have to take them from you, little man, you are going to regret it."

Joe sighed. He didn't care enough about staying in Bayport to put up with this, supplies and a warm bed or not. He started to turn on his heel, prepared to leave Bayport behind him, when a tired, gruff voice he vaguely recognized came from inside the room.

"Let him in, Brand..."

Brand blinked, then frowned. "But Andrea-"

"I trust this man implicitly Brand, let him through."

Brand growled, but motioned Joe in with a look that said if he so much as sneezed in Andrea's presence, Brand was going to turn him into Joe jelly. He then followed the gunman in and shut the door behind him, walking quickly past Joe to stand at Mayor Bender's side, glaring daggers all the while.

Joe ignored him.

Mayor Andrea Bender was a formidable woman, but the last few years had aged her considerably. The weight of her years--which was not much, but still noticeable--seemed to bow the woman down, giving her a cramped, bent look, and lending a hollowed look to her pale features. Joe, no stranger to the sensation, thought he detected the sharp look of a pain so familiar it had become, if not an old friend, then at least a respected adversary, in the woman's eyes.

He didn't have to say it. He knew at least part of the mystery now.

Andrea Bender was dying.

"Forgive my guard, Mr. Hardy. He is a bit overzealous at times, but regretfully his vigilance is not entirely unwarranted, in these troubled times." The hint of a rasp caught Joe's ear. It was taking everything the woman had to maintain the illusion of health, but she wasn't fooling the observant man.

"Please, have a seat." The Mayor motioned to a chair. Joe didn't particularly feel like lounging in such a tense place, but he was perceptive enough to realize that the woman wouldn't sit unless her "guest" was seated, so he took it reluctantly. Some of his hesitance must have shown, for Andrea sank into her own chair eyeing Joe gratefully.

"Again, forgive my interruption of your enjoyment of our fair city, but I could not risk the chance that you would leave before I had an opportunity to speak with you, Mr. Hardy."

Joe said nothing, but appeared to be listening receptively.

After a short pause, Andrea leaned forward and clasped her hands together before her mouth, eyeing the gunman resolvedly. "I'll cut to the point, Mr. Hardy, as time is not a luxury I can afford. I have heard that you have sometimes taken on the role of a Bounty Hunter of late...I trust my information is accurate?"

Joe nodded curtly, his face a study in blankness.

"I have need of your services. The very future of this city is at stake," she sighed, stifling a cough. Brand looked at her concernedly. "I am of course willing to compensate you for your work."

Joe sighed. "Who do you want me to track down?" he said bluntly.

Brand looked like he was about to have an apoplexy over Joe's lack of concern for the proper honorifics, but at Andrea's slightly raised hand he settled for simply looking like a bomb about to explode.

Andrea caught Joe's gaze with her own and frowned. "My daughter."


	2. Andrea's Proposition

A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews! I really hope you like this story, despite its extreme Alternate Universe-ness. Thanks and keep reading!

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If Joe was surprised to hear who he was supposed to bring to justice, he gave no sign. His only indication that this was an unexpected twist was a slight hesitancy before his next question.

"What has she done?" he said simply.

Andrea stood painfully and eased her way over to one of the windows, gazing out at the grounds outside the house. "Look at them...circling like wolves scenting a lame, sick, old doe."

Joe watched her quietly, waiting for an answer to his question. The woman continued, as though unmindful of her guest's expectations.

"Well I'm not dead yet. Not...yet." She coughed lightly, then turned back to face Joe. "Not what she's done...what she hasn't done."

Andrea frowned. "How much do you know about Bayport, Mr. Hardy? Specifically, the lines of succession?"

Joe frowned. His mother had been of Bayport descent, but she had not taught him much about the people she'd left behind when she'd followed his father to New York--what was left of it at least. What he did know was simply what he could glean over the long years of his employment as a Network agent, and what he'd heard Vanessa speak of. "Not much. I know that power has been in the Bender line for hundreds of years...secretly of course."

Andrea grimaced. "You know more than most. The Mayor is chosen from a small group of families who can trace their lineage back to the first settlers who were granted this land by Lord Leviathan, a thousand years ago. Those who would accept the mantle of Lordship must prove themselves capable of the extreme mental and physical dedication. It's so very complicated. I'm surprised IDA hadn't realized it sooner." A look of pride crossed her face. "Vanessa, at 19, was the youngest in the family ever to know of the secret."

Joe nodded almost imperceptibly, and Andrea continued. The look of pride had vanished behind a sudden wave of sadness.

"However, being only 19, she had not yet reached her majority. She could not take the position at the time. In addition, she was deeply embroiled in the fate of the world, but there is no need to recount that tale to you. It was...understood, that upon her 30th birthday, Vanessa Bender would succeed me."

Joe frowned. He couldn't remember Vanessa saying anything about this. She must have kept the information to herself pretty well. Not that Joe could blame her, really.

"Imagine my surprise when the day of her 30th birthday comes around, and there is neither hide nor hair of her to be found in all of Bayport, save a makeshift rope made of blankets leading out her window," she continued wryly, with the air of a woman laying her cards on the table.

Joe raised an eyebrow. "Why me?" he said simply.

Andrea sighed and rubbed her face with her frail hands. "I will admit you are not my first choice. I would have preferred to keep this matter in our hands...it is...a source of embarrassment for us." He looked at Brand quietly, and the man looked resigned.

"However, while you are not the first person to be asked to accept this burden, you are the only one who I have any hope will succeed at it."

Joe raised an eyebrow, then looked pointedly at Brand.

Andrea cleared her throat and looked at Brand. "Show him, Brand."

Brand blanched and looked as though his boss had just asked him to do a jig naked. "Andrea..." he choked out.

She did not ask again, she simply fixed her servant with a glare.

Brand sighed and lowered his head in defeat.

Then he turned around and lifted his shirt.

Joe blinked.

Taking up most of the large man's pale back was the message, 'You'll never take me alive, coppers!', Followed by a hastily scrawled (but amazingly legible, considering the medium) doodle of someone giving an extremely insulting gesture and grinning catlike at the reader.

A simple author's mark, '-V', displayed the evidence of the man's embarrassment.

"As you can see, as formidable as Brand is...my daughter proved to be slightly more...resourceful." Again, that note of pride.

Joe fixed her with a very expressive look.

It said basically, 'This is the person you want running Bayport?'

After a moment's hesitation, Joe frowned. "I still don't see why you want _me_ to do it. Vanessa and I were together, it's true, but we weren't exactly in love...for real. What makes you think I have any more insight into her then him?" he glanced in Brand's direction.

It was a testament to Joe's closed-mouthed-ness that this was the longest speech he'd made in months.

Andrea eased herself into the chair again and closed her grey eyes. "I thought about contacting the other members of the Network about this, but ultimately by the time it became grave enough to look to outside help, my hands were already tied."

Andrea opened her eyes again and stared at Joe levelly. "Any one of the other members of the Nets might be able to find her, Mr. Hardy, but none of them are here. Further, they all have their own pursuits and matters of importance. Mr. Prito is trying to rebuild, just as others have their duties in New York. Your brother and Ms. Shaw have settled down in Trenton, they have business to tend to. Mr. and Mrs. Hooper are expecting a child soon...and Arthur...well..."

Andrea's eyes became distant as she talked. "Bayport needs a leader, Mr. Hardy. Any power vacuum created when I am gone will not be easily filled--there is no one else in the direct line of succession. The U.S. would be torn apart by civil war...but my countrymen do not see this. No...worse...they see it as an opportunity." Her face hardened.

"There are those who do not wish Vanessa to be found. If I called any one of the more prominant members of the Network to Bayport, my enemies would know what reason they were being called for, and they would do anything in their power to hinder their search. No, Mr. Hardy...like it or not, you are the only one I can trust in this matter."

Joe still felt extremely skeptical, and Andrea apparently saw this in his face. She took a sideways glance at Brand, then frowned. "Brand!" she barked hoarsely.

"Yes, Andrea?" Brand looked at his leader intently.

"Leave us please."

"Andrea-"

"Do not make me repeat myself, boy," Andrea muttered quietly, her eyes closed.

Brand blanched again, then, with a glare at Joe that said Andrea's safety was Joe's only chance at leaving this room alive, he stiffly walked to the door and let himself out.

Andrea sagged wearily into her chair, pain now written into every line and crease of her gentile face. It was as though her body were being suspended by so many strings, and about half of them had just been severed. She sighed deeply.

Joe waited quietly, his face betraying, as usual, none of his thoughts.

"I do not know how to convince you of the importance of this mission, Mr. Hardy. Perhaps it is an internal matter, perhaps I am making a mistake in involving an outsider...but I do not think this the case."

She forced herself to sit up straighter and caught Joe's tainted eyes. Gone was the funny boy who had teased and laughed at Vanessa's antics...

Pain and the need for urgency had stripped the humor from him. Joe found himself strangely saddened by this evidence of mortality.

"Bayport has ever been proud of its self reliance, Mr. Hardy, but as with anything taken too far, it has become a stumbling block. One that could mean the destruction of everything we know."

She took a deep breath and continued. "We have become locked in our traditions, refusing to grow, refusing to change...and the rest of world passes us by. We stood up proudly to IDA, and their strong arm tactics, and look where it got us. A generation of our brightest and best minds lost to a stiff necked war fought between the greatest technological juggernaut this world has ever seen...and a backwater empire too stubborn to know when they were beaten."

Her lips were touched by a wry smile. "Bayport is now a kingdom of oldsters who believe if they stick their heads deep enough into the sand, the rest of the world will forget them, and a generation of youngsters too proud and willful to listen to the few level heads willing to speak up.

"Our country is dying, Mr. Hardy. It is choking itself to death with its own ignorance."

Joe watched the woman intently. He'd surmised the same, but it was none of his concern if Bayport was too stubborn to accept the truth.

He was extremely knowledgeable in the area of self-delusion, after all.

"That is the reason I tried to turn Bayport into a tourism spot, Mr. Hardy. To bring in new blood...new ideas. To revitalize our country...make it strong again...to show the world that there is something worth saving here...and to get our children used to the idea that they are a part of a world community."

"Whether or not I have failed...whether I was wrong...remains to be seen. I doubt very much I shall see the change in my lifetime. I doubt it very much indeed." She sighed.

Joe did not argue with her.

"Ultimately that more then anything else, is why I sent my daughter out on her fool's errand. As though the few Assassins left, no matter how powerful, could make this country strong again...like a magical 'cure all.'" She chuckled. "No Mr. Hardy...I wanted her to experience the outside world...to understand it, and not to fear it...to even...perhaps, love it a little.

"Somewhere in it all though, I failed miserably...not as a leader, but as a mother. Too much duty thrust on her...too much responsibility...and not enough love..." she sighed regretfully. "It was too easy to let the years pass without having to deal with the hard confrontations...the truth is Mr. Hardy...she reminds me so much of her father that it sometimes hurts to look at her." She looked deeply ashamed. "Now this country sits on the brink of ruin, and if it falls...it will be my fault, and my fault entirely."

She was looking older and older by the minute. Joe thought he could detect a hint of grief in the woman's voice...of a relationship tainted by bitterness on both sides...and a deep and abiding guilt for that bitterness. It made him uncomfortable, but he listened nonetheless.

"Its only hope rests on the thin shoulders of a very willful, very stubborn, very angry and confused young girl...excuse me, young woman, who has had to grow up far too quickly. It's not fair, and it's not right that it should be so, but it is. She has a responsibility to her country, Joseph Hardy. You must make her see this."

Joe watched the woman for a moment, then slowly shook his head. This was none of his business...this fight between a dying old woman and her willful daughter. Country or no, Andrea was forgetting one important detail in all of this.

Vanessa Bender was not one to be forced into something she did not want to do. No, she'd chosen her path.

Bayport would survive...it had through all of this, and it would for centuries. Joe was sure of that. It certainly wouldn't benefit from the sort of salvation a monster with too much blood on his hands could give it.

"I'm sorry, Mayor Bender, but I am not the one you want for this."

Andrea hid her disappointment well, but nonetheless it showed in the dullness of her eyes. She smiled sadly.

"I wish you would reconsider, Mr. Hardy, but my days of pushing people around are long gone, I'm afraid. Besides, I very much doubt that you are the sort to be easily moved, once you've set your course."

Joe couldn't argue with that. He gathered up his rifle as Andrea stood, groaning quietly.

"Never allow yourself to get old, Mr. Hardy. The discounts it entitles you to aren't worth all the bother, let me tell you." She winced sharply as she moved her stiff body.

"Please...Mr. Hardy, stay at my home for the night at least. Compensation, for your wasted time."

"That is not-"

"Please...allow me at least to ease my conscience this much. Indulge an old woman."

Joe sighed. "As you wish."

The two walked out of the meeting room together in silence, each a prisoner of their own thoughts.


	3. An Offer to Promt a Decision

A/N: Alrighty, I just wanted to do a little bit of background on our two main characters who, by the hands of fate, will be meeting very shortly.

First of all, Joe has become a troubled, brooding young man. The war has changed him and he still fights his guilt over his first love's death. Such is the main reason he ended his relationship with Vanessa and sunk into the shadows after the Network broke up.

As for our heroine, Vanessa took the war as a way to show everyone around her that she was more than just a helpless little girl. She's now reverted back to her teenage habits and mindset, while also using her Network skills to get what she wants. She is rebellious and feels that her mother is all too restricting of her.

Ok, now you may read on...

* * *

After the tense meeting with Andrea, the solitary comfort of the spacious room that the Mayor had provided for him was a welcome relief from his troubles. Joe rested fully clothed with his hands behind his head, staring at the spotless ceiling from the comfort of the bed provided. He mulled the conversation (such as it was. Conversations with Joe tend to be rather one-sided.) over and over in his head, putting together the evidence he'd gathered from his observations with the things that Andrea had spoken of. Try as he might, he could find no way to refute what the aged woman had revealed to him...when she died, if Vanessa was not immediately on hand to fill the gap, Bayport would dissolve into a mass of infighting. It was impossible to predict what the state of the country would be when it finally ended, but the inescapable fact was that the new rulers would be the ones with the bloodiest hands.

This made Joe uncomfortable.

On the other hand, Joe understood the need for freedom that must have burned in Vanessa's soul. Such a terrible responsibility to foist off on a young woman. Joe had always viewed the woman as he would a butterfly...beautiful, flitting from place to place...a creature of sunshine and laughter...but if one were to capture it in an uncaring hand, the beautiful pigments that adorned its wings would rub off and fade over time, and ultimately the thing of beauty would become tattered, dull, and finally dead.

This also made Joe uncomfortable.

Not for the first time today, he wished he'd chosen a different city to visit.

The soft, muffled scrape of leather on stone broke his train of thought, and he frowned, trying to locate the source of the sound. A normal human being wouldn't have been able to pick out the almost imperceptible noise, but Joe hadn't been a normal human being for a long time. Drawing his gun from under his cloak, he checked to ensure it was loaded, then turned out the lamp that provided the dim light to the room. Pitch blackness surrounded him, but it took only a few moments for his enhanced eyes to adjust.

Another scrape, one that he almost missed, and then the sound of a wooden window cover being drawn slowly back drew his immediate attention. He waited, a nondescript shadow among shadows, his breath easing in and out with a slowness that no human being could have matched. Several tense minutes passed, minutes that seemed like hours, as the intruder hesitated, apparently confused by the state of the room.

Finally who ever it was committed itself, and a black garbed individual, his or her face fully covered, slipped into the room looking this way and that, making no sound that even Joe could detect.

Joe was impressed.

But he still drew back the hammer of the revolver and in one smooth motion pointed it at the figure's head. At the telltale sound the figure froze in a crouch, now oriented towards Joe and the noise he'd made.

"Don't move," Joe cautioned.

The figure remained stock still, but its breathing increased rapidly....and its muscles tensed. Joe sensed it was preparing to spring.

"Don't do it," he warned.

Joe was a firm believer in action, reaction...cause and effect. One event inevitably causes another. As soon as he pointed the gun at the figure's head, the outcome was simple...if the figure followed his instructions, it would live. If it did not...

A split second reaction saw the figure jerk forward, a small razor sharp knife coming halfway out of its hidden sheath....

A hair later, the resounding blast of the large revolver echoed loudly in the small room. The figure was tossed back violently by the force of the bullet, and dropping the knife, it stumbled into the wall to drop out of the open window.

It never made a sound.

Joe strode over to the window and glanced outside, but the dusk made spotting the dark clothed corpse impossible at this distance. Joe's night vision was damn good, but it wasn't _that_ good. Bending down, he picked up the small knife and examined it intently. A strange symbol adorned it's hilt, one that he did not recognize. Any other observations would have to come later, as at that moment the door burst open and Brand lumbered into the room, his fists raised.

"I heard gun fire! What's going on in here?" he thundered.

Joe lowered his revolver from the ready position he'd had it in covering the door and holstered it in one smooth, practiced motion.

"You heard a single gunshot. It was me," he said matter-of-factly.

Brand narrowed his eyes. "I know that! I meant what were you firing at?"

Joe stared at him a long time, then looked away. He didn't trust this person...something about him struck him as false, and it was obvious that Andrea didn't hold him in the strictest of confidences either. He prevaricated. "Nothing. It was an accident."

Brand looked suspicious. "An accident? You expect me to believe that?"

Joe began to move so suddenly that Brand couldn't react fast enough to stop him as he stepped past the irate guard and towards the door. "Believe what you will."

"What!! You--" Anything more, Joe missed as he quickly made his way out into the courtyard of the large house.

***

Doubtlessly, someone had just tried to have Joe killed. This struck Joe as odd, as he'd only just gotten out of a meeting who's contents were supposed to have been a secret. Supposed to have been, but apparently were not... at least, not entirely.

The more that Joe thought about it, the more he began to suspect who had been leaking information to Andrea's enemies. Brand hadn't been present for his refusal of Andrea's proposition, but he had been there for its initiation. It stood to reason that Brand had assumed he'd accepted the task, as he was now staying in the castle, because there was no reason to try to kill him if they'd known the truth. So either Brand was a traitor, or he was an idiot, either of which was deadly dangerous, in this game of Houses.

Joe would have put his money on the latter, were he a gambling man.

As he'd suspected, by the time he arrived at the location where the body would have fallen, it was already gone. There wasn't even any blood...no impression in the soft dirt. Not even a blade of the dry grass was out of place.

Impressive.

While Joe was not overly concerned with the fact that someone had just tried to kill him, he was nevertheless concerned. Someone felt that the young Lady Bender's absence should be elevated from a temporary problem to a permanent solution. If they were willing to order the death of a member of the Network simply because he was preparing to look for the wayward heir...what of the woman herself?

_Wait a minute Joe. Stop that train of thought_, he commanded himself, _You were never planning on going after Vanessa, remember? Also, they might not know you were a member of the Nets...you didn't exactly announce yourself. A nameless bounty hunter can vanish pretty easy, especially one that few people saw enter the town._

But if Brand is a traitor, or even if he just has a big mouth...Andrea _had_ known who he was, and had been quite free with his name. What if they did know?

Worse...what if Vanessa doesn't know people are coming to kill her?

_Do you want her blood on your hands as well? Because you were too afraid of getting involved?_

He sighed. Things were rapidly getting out of hand.

***

_Well_, Joe thought to himself, as a soft knock sounded on the door. _If that's another assassin, they're getting a lot bolder._

He got up and went to the door, wondering how people got any sleep around here, what with all the intrigue flying around. Sliding open the door, he peered out into the hall, and was greeted by a small man with greasy black hair and the most false looking smile Joe had ever had the misfortune to witness. Like a bad actor in an equally bad drama, he looked studiously left, then right, and putting his hand against his cheek loudly whispered.

"Mr. Hardy, we need to talk. Privately...the walls have eyes."

Joe blinked. He wasn't exactly sure what the visual capability of the walls had to do with them _speaking_ together privately, but he got the gist. This also blew his whole, "perhaps they don't know you're a former member of the Network" theory out of the water. He sighed inwardly.

"Come in."

After the man had settled himself in and checked to ensure they were alone (obviously so... in a manner that could have been considered insulting, had Joe not already decided this man was an idiot). He grinned his flagrantly false grin again.

"I represent certain...parties, who have an interest in matter you have decided to undertake."

This was news to Joe, but he decided to play along. He watched the man warily.

"While we appreciate the manner in which the Bender line has accomplished it's duties thus far, we think perhaps it is time for a more...traditionally minded family to step up to the challenge of leadership." He smiled and nodded, apparently agreeing with himself.

Joe remained silent.

"It's not that we have any reservations about Mayor Bender you understand, but she's getting old, and she's not exactly in the best of health, anymore. Why, something could happen to her, God forbid, but we dare not discount the possibility. We need long term stability, and Andrea cannot provide that."

Joe was getting tired of this. He had a feeling the man could speak in euphemisms all night, if Joe let him. "What do you want me to do?"

The man never missed a beat. "Get rid of the Bender girl. We don't care how. We will double whatever Andrea is paying you."

Joe gave the illusion of considering his offer, when in actually he wanted to shoot this man on the spot.

"I don't make deals with people who try to kill me," he said softly, after a short pause. He was testing out a theory.

The man didn't even try to deny it. "Oh come now...we had to see if you could do what we ask! If you can't take care of one measly assassin, how could you deal with a master such as the young Bender girl? And you succeeded so admirably!" He grinned benevolently and rubbed his hands together, as though imagining Joe's confrontation with Vanessa now.

Joe felt slightly sick. "I think you should leave now."

The man lost his smile. "But what about my offer--?"

"Leave. Now." He didn't yell, but the man apparently heard the ultimatum in his voice. He paled, but snarled and stood up, jerking open the door angrily.

"You'll regret this, Mr. Hardy," he growled, then disappeared into the night.

"I already do," Joe said, to no one in particular.

***

Andrea was going over some papers late in the night when she suddenly realized she was not alone. To his credit, she simply widened her eyes a bit, then relaxed when she realized who it was.

"So, Mr. Hardy. What brings you here at so late an hour."

Joe tossed the knife onto her desk and frowned. "Someone tried to kill me."

Andrea looked down at knife and sighed. "I'm glad to see they failed." She picked up the knife and examined it. "Katsura make. Very nasty. You are an impressive man, Mr. Hardy."

Joe narrowed his sapphire eyes. They glittered dangerously. "You knew this was going to happen."

Andrea never skipped a beat. "I suspected as much. You had a visitor as well, I assume? How much did they offer?"

Joe sighed. "Double what you're paying me."

Andrea chuckled. "It would be amusing if they knew that I haven't offered you anything yet."

Joe didn't laugh.

Andrea's face became deadly serious. "Do you see now what I have to deal with? What is at stake here?"

Joe closed his eyes. "I assume not all of the families are as...inept in their plotting as the Katsuras."

Andrea nodded. "They're the most volatile...the most easily startled. Rather like a boar startled from the brush, to be honest. The others are a bit more...subtle."

"Vanessa is in danger," Joe voiced his thoughts aloud.

Andrea sighed. "The throne is the only safe place for her Joe. Here she has friends...supporters...out there she has nothing but enemies. They cannot afford to allow her to live."

Joe shook his head. _Well what are you going to do, Hardy?_ he thought bitterly. _Once again you have an opportunity to save a life. For all of her faults, Vanessa has a bright and noble soul. Can you honestly wash your hands of this? Are you going to let her down? Are you going to let all of them down? You did love her once..._

He closed his eyes, allowing himself a brief moment of self pity. _No matter what I do, I seem unable to avoid becoming entangled in other's affairs. Now I am drowning in a sea of trouble, and there is no shoreline in sight. What do I do? Ignore her plight? Or entangle myself further?_

It wasn't really a choice at all.

"I'll need supplies. A cycle...a fast one," he muttered quietly.

"You'll get them. Anything you need. When will you leave?" Andrea seemed more animated, more alive. Her eyes gleamed as though she'd won a great victory.

"Tonight. There is no point in delaying," he answered.

"Thank you, Mr. Hardy. You have saved this country, this city, and my daughter." --Joe noted the unconscious emphasis on importance Andrea had created when she mentioned her country first-- "Anything you wish... you may have." She practically bounced, and why shouldn't she? It seemed as though the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders.

"Just the supplies and the cycle will do," Joe said. A bit wearily.

For the burden had been placed upon him.

_Damn you, Andrea...and damn me._


	4. Steel! Steel! Steel!

A/N: So, you're all liking it so far? You want for I should keep posting? Okay, you talked me into it.

* * *

She was on the run again.

This statement begs clarification. Vanessa Bender had spent a vast majority of her admittedly short life on the run from one thing or another. It wasn't that she was a coward...oh no, not that. Anyone who can spend half her teenage years helping her boyfriend--ex-boyfriend--and his brother fight off a terrorist empire who's only mission was to kill the entire human race might be considered lacking in something, but whatever it was, it wasn't bravery.

Vanessa Bender does not make a habit of examining her feelings over much. Much the opposite in fact, she has a tendency to blurt out what she's feeling before she even realizes she was feeling it, and if she analyzed it at all, it was purely in retrospect...a sort of reflexive, mental excuse me.

Things that bothered her she ignored, simply put it in a filing cabinet in her mind labeled "icky" and let it slide past her. She had more important, less boring (the distinction between the two is hazy for Vanessa...yes saving the planet was important, but it was also never boring) things to do.

A psychiatrist would have had a field day with her, had he not been driven into a homicidal rage by her inability to sit still.

Perhaps that was it, really. Perhaps, if one were to analyze the facts, if one were to look into her past and see it for what it was...a mother who bent further and further under the anxieties of running a "kingdom", never fully recovering from the grief of losing her husband...A mythical father figure only dimly remembered, spoken of wistfully as a warrior who's battle prowess was legendary, until he let himself be tied down...The endless boring responsibilities lumped upon her...the freedom of being your own woman...perhaps when one put all of this evidence together, one might realize that if she feared anything, it was being chained to one place for too long...being forced to grow up, and shoulder one's responsibilities, was one more step down the inevitable path of banality, one more nail in the coffin lid.

Vanessa's thoughts on the matter were amazingly simple, poignant, and a lot less full of pretentious bullshit.

"You'll never take me alive coppers."

Admittedly, she is not the most philosophical of individuals.

Since she had spent a majority of her life on the run, it stands to reason that she was also very good at it. If Vanessa didn't want to be found, then she wouldn't be, it was a simple as that. If she was found, it was because she wanted you to find her.

Or because she was looking for _you_.

Or because she was flat friggin' broke, and she was after some cash to get stuff she needed.

Hey...even a heiress has gotta eat.

***

With IDA out of the picture, and with the world still warily peeking its head out from under the covers, wondering if the end was here even after all these years, it was a reasonable assumption to say that lawlessness was at an all time high. Countries who had once relied on IDA and the Assassins for their protection (whether they wanted to or not) found themselves in the unenviable position of having to defend themselves, and most of them lacked the ability to coordinate their efforts to quell the rise of crime and disorder that came in the wake of the Assassins.

Looting had been commonplace during those terrible last days, when IDA had loomed ever closer in the sky, and quite a few of those looters had developed a taste for the art of the five finger discount. It was a relatively easy thing to avoid capture. With the shut down and destruction of the nuclear reactors, the world had become a primitive place forced to look to alternate, and inevitably crude, means of power.

Means that did not require the draining of the planet's lifeblood.

Computers were but a fond memory, and communication between law enforcement efforts from city to city, country to country, was nonexistent. Criminals wanted in one country had only to move to a different location and they were home free, at least, until they broke the law again. Bounty hunters alleviated this somewhat, but bounty hunters were expensive, unreliable, and sometimes as downright lawless as the criminals they sought...little better than hired killers.

New York, with its forward thinking mayor, had started a licensing and registration program for bounty hunters, but this practice, though wise, hadn't quite caught on yet. It was an unpredictable and strange time, a time when every country was a frontier again, along with the problems that any frontier inevitably generated, so it was not too uncommon to see semi-permanent "bandit camps," really crude fortresses, popping up in the most inaccessible, inconveniently placed locations around the globe.

They were generally armed to the teeth, there being a disturbing amount of displaced and disgruntled ex-Assassins service members, most of whom were somewhat deficient in the morality department. Additionally, the Assassins equipment and war machines were everywhere...so common place that one could, in some poorer parts of the world, trade an Assassin rifle in for only a good meal...maybe a place to stay for the night if one were lucky. As such, no one had the requisite death wish needed to attack the well-defended, well hidden bases, much less steal from them.

No one _sane_ that is.

Enter Vanessa Bender, the heir, or as she is sometimes known, "She Who Re-defineth the Term, 'What in the hell were you _thinking_?!'"

***

Deep in the forests of the Southern Appalachians, in the almost desolate, overgrown town of Apalachicola, Florida, a place only recently invaded again by man, one of the aforementioned fortresses sat peacefully in the gloom. Nightfall had come and gone, and now the fortress was at that dangerous time for any building defended since time immemorial, that time when the night watch has stopped being overly vigilant and started being overly sleepy.

Men passed by on the high wooden palisade wall muttering to one another or themselves, following a path that had become routine in its boredom. Somewhere inside the fortress, the faint sounds of beings settling themselves down to rest penetrated the gloom.

Just after the guard passed the midpoint on the wall, a shadow detached itself from its surroundings and crept up to the base of the palisade wall.

One might be asking oneself how a shadow can suddenly decide to move by itself.

One might also ask oneself how a shadow moves by itself and giggles quietly at its own sneakiness too, but we shall over look this little transgression, as by now you are probably quite aware of the fact that this is no ordinary shadow.

The shadow resolved itself into a short, lithe silhouette crouching at the base of the wall. Waiting for several heartbeats, as though timing something, the figure suddenly exploded upward like a cork shot from a bottle, only soundlessly. Pulling itself up, it landed on the palisade wall, then immediately rolled forward off the wall and into the fortress courtyard (such as it was). Pausing for a moment as though scenting the air, it then made a beeline for a half dozen crude-looking shacks in the northwest corner of the grounds.

Several loud, crude male voices caused the figure to pause for a moment, as it braced up against one of the buildings. Sneaking a peek at a lit spot between two of the shacks, the figure quietly watched what appeared to be a poker game between four bandits.

More importantly, it watched the piles of coins the bandits were using as chips.

_The ninja's greatest assets are stealth and trickery_, the figure thought to itself, as it crouched so low an observer might have winced, then scrambled up to the table and impossibly, underneath it.

Bill grinned nastily behind his cards and glanced at each of his fellow players. He was pretty sure Mac was bluffing, and he knew Tom and Seth were holding nothing because of a strategically placed mirror. He was also pretty sure the other members of the game were cheating, but since he was too, and since he couldn't prove it, he played dumb.

He was still watching his opponents intently though, as he was sure they were watching him, and so he completely missed the small hand that quietly reached up and snatched his pile of coins.

Reaching down to pick up a silver piece, never taking his eyes off his opponents, he reached around blindly for the pile he knew was there. Only...it wasn't there...or there...or...hey! He looked down and blinked several times, then back up, his face a sudden rictus of suspicion and anger.

"Alright! Who's the wise ass?" he roared.

The other players blinked and looked at him, faces paling. All of them _had_ been cheating, and not noticing the coins on their opponent's pile was missing, they were each suddenly sure he was referring to them.

Mac blinked. "I-I got no idea what yer talkin' about, Bill," he chuckled uneasily.

Bill glowered at him. "Did you do it?"

Mac frowned. "Do what, Bill?"

"Did you take my money, you thief?!"

Mac blinked. "Uh...no way, Bill. It was right in front of you, and all my money's right here, see--" He blinked.

His coins were not right there. It hadn't even left a note. His lower lip trembled.

"What the hell!" he stood up, turning to his companions.

Bill followed him, glaring as well.

Their companions stared at them both as though they'd grown another head apiece.

Seth put his cards down and calmly looked up. "You were watching all of us like hawks, both of you. You _know_ we didn't take your stash."

Bill glowered. "Well who _did_ then?"

Seth shrugged. "Maybe you dropped it. Or maybe..." he let the statement hang.

Bill snarled. "You think I'm lying?!"

Seth narrowed his eyes. "All I'm sayin' is, you been losing all night...maybe you decided it was time to cut your losses...and Mac's too."

Mac was now staring at Bill suspiciously.

Bill slammed his hands on the table. "All I know is I've been playin' with a bunch of cheatin' bastards, and--" He stopped, staring at the table where his hand had just slammed.

The other bandits stared as well. Under his fist, as though it had fallen from his sleeve, a joker lie accusingly staring up at him.

He paled. Where the hell had that come from...he didn't have any Jokers up his sleeve...

Aces maybe, but jokers? Hell no!

"Uh..." he started. The others were still staring at the joker.

Seth was the first to recover. "_We're_ cheatin', huh?"

Mac didn't wait for an explanation. He grabbed Bill's throat and began throttling the life out of him. "Gimme back my money you son of a bitch!"

The two struggled with one another, rolling over the table and onto the other side. Bill somehow managed to kick Seth in the face as he flailed in Mac's grasp, and they practically fell into the--until now--silent Tom's lap, who bellowed something to the effect of, "Bring it on!!!", before jumping into the fray.

Tom had been in an Assassin squad that had tangled with a Network group...he'd never quite been right in the head afterwards.

Somewhere in the middle of the four way brawl that started up, all of their coins as well as a few of their weapons disappeared, along with a certain shadow that vanished further into the clump of shacks beyond their light.

It was looking to be a profitable night.


	5. The Art of Angering an Assassin

The shack was larger, sturdier built than its fellows, and stood a distance apart. This led Vanessa to believe it housed either something, or someone, of importance. Stopping a moment at the door, she waited, listening for a full thirty seconds before slowly opening the door and entering. So newly made, the door swung outward on well greased hinges, making not a single noise.

Vanessa slipped inside and froze along the outer wall, having spotted someone...several someones--ewww--sleeping on the bed.

Stacked in a pile, as thought thrown carelessly in the heat of passion, rested a belt pouch or bag attached to a belt. The glint of silver, and possibly gold, peeked seductively out from under the flap, which bulged from the contents.

Vanessa grinned.

Slipping along side the wall, she made her way towards the pouch.

_I am a ninja... the ninja is unseen. To remain unseen, the ninja must not simply blend in with her surroundings, she must be her surroundings._ She thought to herself with a smirk at her subconscious musings.

Closer...pause as the male sleeper groaned and scratched himself, then continue closer.

_I am not hugging the wall, I am the wall, _she thought. This started a mantra taking her mind of the fact that she was stealing.

_I am not under the table, I am the table. I am not behind the chair, I am the chair. I am not on top of the pile of dirty laundry, I am--_

She paused.

_Wait a minute...Did I just..._

She made the possibly fatal mistake of looking down. Her sudden intake of breath didn't help matters.

"Oh sick!!"

The male figure snorted, sat up and growled. "What the hell?!"

It's funny he asked that, because in the next four seconds, guess what broke loose.

***

The room suddenly became more chaotic than a Ministry inspired Moshpit.

The male bandit exploded up from the bed in fury, grabbing up a pistol as he did so. This woke up the two females at his side, who blinked sleepily in surprise. The next second, a dirty pair of underwear caught the bandit dead in the face, causing his pistol, which he had been aiming in the general direction of Vanessa, to go off.

Vanessa, who had been diving for the pouch, missed getting shot by about an inch. She continued her roll, cursing her bad luck, caught the belt and bounced off the wall up into a full sprint for the open door.

However, while this was happening, at the load report of the pistol, the two females had became extremely alert, if nothing else. Self preservation is an interesting instinct, as it causes different people to react in different ways. Here we see three separate responses:

The first girl responded with option A) Indecision. She screamed and covered herself up fearfully, pulling a little two hard on the blanket and causing the bandit to fall flat on his back, underwear still stuck to his face, he reacted with option B) Fight. He waved the pistol about and fired blindly at all corners of the room, yelling loudly, but slightly muffled. The other girl, perhaps the smarter of the two, Attempted option C) Namely, get the hell out of dodge, and she jumped off the bed completely naked and made a beeline for the door, but tripped over a chair and ended up tangled with it clutching her shin.

Vanessa hurdled over the stunned bimbo then out the door. She had made it about halfway across the courtyard when the place lit up like a roman candle and alarms started sounding. Apparently they'd managed to figure out some way to get power into the facility, perhaps a nuclear battery or something, because all of the sudden, there was no longer anywhere to hide.

Vanessa blinked in the sudden light, cursed her luck and prepared to do a little option B herself.

"Get the bitch!" A very loud, very angry voice sounded into the night, revealing the bandit leader, now clad in much abused jockey shorts and a grime covered long coat of some kind, pistol in hand. Several bandits milled about, confused as to who he was referring to, but a line of guards un-shouldered their rifles and oriented on the running figure.

She never stopped running, her hand flashed out, and a streak of silver sliced the air like it was something palpable. It came in a perfect circular arc, passing each bandit guard in turn, neatly severed each rifle barrel, then returned to Vanessa's waiting hand.

God she loved throwing star. Thank you Nets!

They stared at the rifles in confusion and shock, too awed to do much of anything productive.

Well, much of anything productive but stand there like an impromptu wall. Vanessa skidded to a halt and changed directions back towards the bandit leader.

"I said get her you idiots! Catch her!" He shook the empty, useless pistol in frustration and pointed.

Several bandits now chased the rapidly retreating Vanessa, forcing her towards the Bandit leader. The first one to reach her leapt at her in a sideways tackle move, and she ducked completely under him, never stopping her run. Another stepped into bear hug her and she kicked him square in the jaw, flipping his body over so that he landed on his face, stunned.

Vanessa grinned. She had a plan. Like most of her plans, it involved a overwhelming large risk to the sanity margin.

The next bandit swung his rifle like an impromptu club and she parried with her knife, flashing it downward so fast it made a hissing noise. The bandit's pants, no longer being held up by his now severed belt, promptly said to hell with this and dropped, revealing his hairy legs and heart patterned jockey shorts. He tripped, and as he went down, Vanessa used his skull as a spring board to catapult herself at the Bandit leader.

Vex, the Bandit--most likely a former Assassin--leader, was beginning to get a little vexed himself. He had been rudely awakened from a deep, restful sleep after a night's carousing, had his dignity assaulted, and his possessions stolen, and he was out for blood. How dare this little bitch invade his home and take his stuff, that he'd taken fair and square from other people? How dare she make his men look like bumbling idiots. How dare she come flying at him like a bat outta--

Anything else going through his mind at that point immediately went in the opposite direction as Vanessa planted both feet into his face, bent her legs to absorb the shock and coil herself inward, then explode upward into the night like a bottle rocket. Vex impacted face with the ground, his head being buried an inch or three by the force, his screams of pain and outrage muffled by several mouthfuls of topsoil. Vanessa flipped neatly at the apex of her leap like a master gymnast, landing tiptoe on the wall of the fortress. She smiled back at her pursuers, winked, then slapped her ass twice and dropped over the other side.

The small post she'd been standing on seconds before was immediately torn apart by gunfire.

Vanessa disappeared into the night thanking God for her Network taught moves.

The bandits stared at each other, uncertain what to do. One bandit leaned in close to Vex, who was still facedown in the dirt.

The bandit poked him concernedly.

He immediately became a bit more concerned when Vex's hand shot out and grabbed his throat. Vex picked himself up and spit dirt out of the side of his mouth, drug the hapless bandit to stare at him face to face, and snarled.

"Get the cycles. I want that girl's spleen for a trophy." His eyes glinted furiously.

The bandit gulped and hastened to do as he was asked.

Vex turned to his crew and growled, his lip twitching spasmodically. "5000 dollars to the man who brings me that...that girl."

Half in the light, half out of it, his face took on an extremely fearsome quality.

At least, it would have been fearsome, had it not had a big red footprint visible on it.


	6. An Explosive Entrance

A/N: Think of this as an early Christmas present. Hope you like it, it's one of my favorite chapters. Happy Holidays...

* * *

Anyone who thinks a bounty hunter's job is easy has obviously never done it before.

First of all, you start off with only a description of your target and maybe, if you're lucky, a vague idea of where he's going. Unfortunately, people who skip town because of crimes committed very seldom leave a forwarding address, this being counterproductive to remaining in an un-jailed state.

Additionally, criminals that require a bounty are usually repeat offenders, so they know how to lie low for a while once they get where they are going, which further widens the search area. Once you find the bastard, then you have to apprehend them, and that's difficult as well. Very few bounties are for dead or alive, most require the villain to be brought in still alive, which meant you had to shoot very carefully.

The villain in question was under no such restraints, and if she was smart, she knew you were coming, and she probably had friends.

Add to this the fact that for all of her immaturity, Joe was being tasked to hunt a Network taught ninja of sorts, and it immediately becomes clear why most of the people Andrea had sent previously had been unable to locate her.

However daunting his task might have been, Joe was not completely in the dark. He knew her personally, and he was now intimately aware of her situation. This gave him an advantage.

He pondered this as he rested in the cargo-hold (Joe had no need for creature comforts, and had been able to purchase a much cheaper ticket by offering to reside in the cargo-hold for the trip. The captain had stared at him like he was crazy, but truthfully, Joe preferred it. No one else bothered to go down into the cargo-hold, and that left him alone with his thoughts) of the ship traveling from Bayport to Costa Del, ironically, exactly two months to the day before Vanessa would attempt her desperate grab for cash in the Appalachian forest. He considered the evidence, what he knew of Vanessa, combined with what he knew of her situation.

Point one, Vanessa hated flying, and hated ships...pretty much hated anything that didn't move naturally. She was prone to motion sickness, which led Joe to believe she'd grab a transport to the nearest port away from Bayport, and no further. The nearest actual port was Costa Del, which also happened to be a port which none of her friends lived at, an added bonus, Joe believed she'd have thought.

This led to point two, what she was doing was reckless and irresponsible, she must have known how the other, older members of the Network would see that, at the very least they would try to talk her out of it, at worst, they'd contact Andrea. So she would avoid towns where she might meet her friends, that marked New York and Trenton off the list. On that continent, that left only Nibelheim, Cumberland and Apalachicola.

This led to point three, Vanessa would probably avoid moving closer to Bayport. Additionally, if Joe remembered correctly, Vanessa had found Nibelheim to be somewhat boring and spooky. That left only Cumberland and Apalachicola.

Joe could only surmise that from what he knew of Vanessa, Cumberland was the best bet.

He sighed. Joe disliked that place intensely. It was too bright, too fake...and too full of noise...and people...there was almost no where one could go to get away from it all. Cumberland was a place people went to to get away from their troubles, to forget about their problems.

Joe could neither get away or forget, and so the place was useless to him.

Without the nuclear reactors that had powered them before, ships were forced to make use of old coal driven steam engines, inefficient and prone to breakdown. The trip, normally a scant five day voyage, took the small passenger ship two and a half weeks to accomplish.

None of the other passengers were aware of the odd passenger being carried, or his mission.

His face showed none of his misgivings as he methodically looked over his cycle, a quiet, even tempered vehicle,that purred as he tested the engine. Joe shifted his feet on the cold deck, sensing the long wait was at an end, and glad of it. When the boat pulled up to the pier, he was on his way in less time then it took for the captain to wish him a pleasant stay.

He didn't want to deal with Cumberland. Not in the least.

Still, to protect Vanessa from her mistake, and to prevent a civil war, Joe would make that sacrifice.

Probably a few more on the way.

***

A month later, Joe wearily concluded that Vanessa was _not_ in Cumblerland.

At least, not now. There were rumors about some sort of confrontation between a large man and a small girl matching Vanessa's description in the arena. From what Joe was able to surmise, Brand had caught up with Vanessa here, and tried to drag her bodily back to Bayport. This had ended with her kicking the stuffing out of him, giving him his unfortunate tattoo, and stealing his cycle. He knew this because there was a stolen property report in Brand's name, and Vanessa had been listed as the prime suspect.

Joe sighed. It had taken him too long to scrounge out that information, and it was meager at best. One promising lead had her taking off in the direction of Apalachicola, which fit in well with his guesswork up til now. There was just one fly in the ointment.

He wasn't the only one asking around for Vanessa's whereabouts.

Others had been asking, and they'd been paying quite a bit for the information too. Joe surmised that Vanessa didn't have a whole lot of time left before these agents caught up with her.

He could only hope, as he left Cumberland behind in a trail of dust, headed for Apalachicola, that he was faster than they were.

***

It's funny how things work out. Coincidences pile up one atop the other, until one is almost forced to admit that perhaps there is some force out there, looking out for fools and madmen. Call it destiny, fate, or some fickle god. Call it what you will, but it was in full effect.

Joe arrived in Apalachicola just as Vanessa was leaving after spending the last of the cash she had on a meal and a bed. He was able to confirm that she had been here, additionally that she'd sold Brand's cycle about a week ago, and was actually quite a big spender here, up until yesterday.

Joe considered the terrain thoughtfully. Vanessa's best bet would be to head into Apalachicola forest to pick up a few bounties on the local criminals...Joe had done something similar during his own wanderings across the land. Since she would be on foot, she couldn't have gotten very far. Joe doubted she'd go beyond the forest, at least, not in the time it had taken him to get here. Joe paused to pick up a few supplies then headed out into the forest after her. An ordinary tracker would have been unable to find the meager signs that Vanessa had left behind her. Indeed, had she not been unused to the jungle, it was quite feasible that even Joe wouldn't have been able to pick up her trail. Pick it up he did, however, and in the fading light that crept through the trees, he picked his way carefully through the dense foliage, following the small set of tracks that he had picked up.

He sensed he was close.

He had been searching for her exactly two months.

As it was mentioned earlier, kinda makes you think perhaps something might lend a hand in this little coincidence, doesn't it?

***

Something was moving through the brush. Several somethings. Several..._big_ somethings. Joe quieted his cycle, and hit the kick stand, leaning it against as tree. He moved quietly through the pitch blackness. Well, pitch blackness for anyone else...there was a little bit of moonlight filtering in from the dense canopy, and this was enough light for Joe to see quite well by.

There were some advantages to being a well trained Net, after all.

He stopped when he saw a small blur burst through the nearby bushes and rush past him, so close he could have reached out to touch the running figure. He glanced down momentarily, caught sight of the small sneaker-like track left in the soft topsoil, then flattened himself against a nearby tree as the crashing and stomping noises got louder. Immediately out of the brush that Vanessa had burst through, the bushes exploded, disgorging four gigantic cycles, crushing and hissing their way through the forest. Two men sat on each vehicle, one controlling the cycle, the other armed with what appeared to be an Assassin make machine gun. Joe sighed.

_What have you gotten yourself into, Van?_ He thought.

As last of the cycles passed close by, he spotted a dangling side strap that attached to the vehicle, probably to allow the mounting of supplies for easy transport. Vanessa's pursuers, in their haste to get to pursuing, had failed to properly stow the strap, and it flopped back and forth at the cycle's side.

It was an easy matter to reach out, grab the thing, and allow himself to be dragged along with the cycle. He carefully, quietly climbed hand over hand up the strap, flipping himself lightly atop the large moving machine, immediately behind the gunner, who was so intent upon getting a shot at the fleeing girl he never noticed the dark passenger behind him.

Joe grabbed the man by the back of his collar with his hands and tossed him over the side so quickly the man didn't even get an opportunity to scream. The cycle, goaded on by the man saddled on it, sped right over the hapless bandit without even noticing him.

The hapless bandit in question, however, certainly noticed. For about a half a second.

Joe took control of the machine gun and racked the slide, noting, at his feet, several grenades. Narrowing his eyes, he took note of the positions of each of the other three cycle teams.

Swiveling the machine gun to orient at the one closest to him, he opened fire at its back wheel. Stitching a staccato burst across its rubber surface, he marched the tracer fire up to the machine-gun nest on its seat. After pumping rounds into it for a second or so, he was rewarded when the ammunition and explosives contained in the nest exploded messily, throwing bandit and bits of cycle all over the place. The large cycle in question sputtered and spun off at a crazy angle into the jungle, taking its helpless controller with it.

The man who piloted the cycle that Joe was on turned in the saddle to yell at his gunner.

"What the hell are you doing, Gantz... you just--" He stopped, blinking at the sight in front of him.

A tall man, tattered cloak streaming in the wind, set features hard to make out in the gloom, rose from his crouched position in the machine-gun nest. Something that glittered weakly in the sparse moonlight made a pinging noise in his right hand. Part of the object, the reflective part, flipped into the night over the side of the cycle. The other, rounded, less reflective part, he dropped into the nest at his feet.

The pilot blinked. "Who the hell are you?"

Joe did not answer, he simply crouched and sprang backward, into the night.

If the pilot was upset by Joe's rudeness, he quickly got over it as he realized belatedly what the object in Joe's hand had been.

One of the thirty or so grenades stocked in the machine gun nest.

"Oh sh-"

Another explosion rocked the night.


	7. Welcome to the Jungle

Vanessa, her sides heaving with exertion, dodged around a tree and kept right on running, knowing that to falter the trip at this point would mean certain death.

"Geez," she groused to herself. "You'd think I pissed these guys off or somethin'."

Machine gun fire made Vanessa dive over a log and keep rolling, back up to her feet, until she realized the bullets weren't even coming close to her. An explosion lit up the night, followed by a horrendous bellowing roar of pain and anger.

"What the hell?!" she shouted.

Another explosion, this one a rattling bang like several smaller explosions rolling into one, followed by a horrendous crashing noise and a weak, gurgled hiss.

"Alright, what the heck is goin' on back there? Incompetent I figured, but terminally stupid?"

The lead cycle crashed through the underbrush just behind Vanessa, spurring her to redouble her running efforts and set aside her thinking efforts, at least for now. She spun easily, tossing her four spiked knife out behind her at an upward angle, and continuing her spin until she was reoriented forward, still running. The silvered, deadly bit of spinning metal flashed almost lazily upward, catching the rushing machine straight in its front tire.

All the laws of physics and ballistics stood up and clambered indignantly at once. A five ounce bit of metal tossed by a 30 year old woman, when colliding with a tire with a five inch plate of rubber and metal hubcaps, by all rights should have no appreciable effect.

Reality told all those laws to shut up, because this was _her_ knife, the legendary weapon made especially for impossible situations, being thrown by a "ninja" who had taken part in the destruction of the most indestructible empire ever to live.

The laws of physics and ballistics sat down and glared sullenly at the girl in question, muttering something to the effect of, "I'll get you yet."

Back in the real world, the deadly knife passed through the cycle's tire like it was made of paper, slamming out an eighteen inch diameter hole in the back of the tire, and splattering the hapless pilot with old tar, dirt and worse.

About a split second later the cycle flipped end over end and crushed both it and the gunner beneath its several ton bulk.

"Hell yeah!" Vanessa pumped her--admittedly sore--fist.

Her victory dance was cut horrifically short.

The laws of physics and ballistics grinned predatorily.

For after having ripped a five ton cycle's front tire, the deadly knife had somehow managed to get itself lodged in a fifteen foot diameter tree, and was not returning to Vanessa's grasp.

About that moment, the last cycle broke into the clearing. Vanessa gulped, turned to run, and her foot caught a blasted root and she ended up flat on her ass staring up at five tons of metal, with a pilot grinning his ass off staring down at her.

"Goddamn it! The laws of physics must hate me!" she shouted, struggling to get her blasted foot loose.

Yup. The laws of ballistics too.

***

Joe spent the next few seconds leaping from tree limb to tree limb, high above where the action was taking place. He witnessed Vanessa's magnificent throw, as well as her ignoble defeat at the hands of a tree root, and settled himself in the crook of the tree, snapping his gun calmly but amazingly, inhumanly, quickly into a firing position. Wetting his finger, he slipped the gun-sight up into position and gathered his breath.

_No time to gauge the distance. Going to have to guess-timate,_ Joe thought to himself, _About 75 yards. Slight bit of windage, too short a distance but the target is moving about 20 miles an hour.. bullet drop should be negligible over that distance..._

All of these thoughts and a few more flickered by in less than a second as he took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and between breaths, squeezed the trigger.

Just as the cycle began to charge, intent on crushing Vanessa into a more or less pancaked shape.

***

Vanessa had exhausted her options and was about to just ditch her damn shoe when the bandit got tired of playing with her and gunned his engine, forcing the beast forward. Vanessa blinked, paled and struggled with her shoe.

_Aw,_ _Shi--_

Her thoughts were cut short as a strangely familiar gunshot boomed through the night.

The pilot, intent on urging his cycle forward, never heard the shot. Of course, the heavy caliber long rifle's bullet traveled at supersonic speeds, and the distance was far too short for him to hear anything before the bullet reached the target.

Since the target was the back of his skull, it hardly mattered if he heard it anyway. The heavy caliber, armor piercing methyl jacketed bullet passed through his head, his face did an impression of the Mt. St. Helen's eruption, and the bullet continued through, burying itself deep in the "spinal column" of the charging metal cycle.

The laws of ballistics may hate Vanessa, but they love Joe Hardy like a brother.

The cycle suddenly lost the ability to stand and rode suddenly, forward momentum causing it to slide forward until the build up of dirt around its wide front created enough resistance to slow it to a stop.

Its front tire rested a scant five inches from a startled woman's nose.

She blinked several times at it, staring cross-eyed.

"Hoo boy. Might need a change of shorts after that one," she muttered quietly to herself.

Amazingly, her sneaker chose that exact moment to come loose from its hiding place.

She stared at it irritably for a moment before standing up and brushing herself off.

Climbing atop the cycle she walked its length from front to back, and peered into the gloom. Someone had been helping her out there...someone who had fired that achingly familiar shot. She just couldn't place it though. Come to think of it, there had been _four_ cycles after her...where were the rest of them?

A light flapping noise caught her attention and she jerked back, glancing upward. A tall figure dropped down on top of the metal about three feet in front of her, all menacing blue eyes and cloak. She yelped and swung a roundhouse kick at it in reflex.

'It', in an un-amused fashion, caught her kick and stared down her leg at her.

She blinked, then amazement flooded her face. "Joey? I-Is... that you?"

Joe closed his eyes and sighed, releasing her foot. He really hated that nickname.

Vanessa waved her arms a little, off balance from the way Joe had suddenly released her foot and took a couple of steps back. Recovering her balance, she stared at him in shock. Of all the people she'd expected to see here, Joe was about the last one. Even later then Andrea, Frank and even the Pope, and that was saying something, because she wasn't even sure who the Pope was, just that it was more likely she'd see him here than Joe.

Joe, for his part, simply un-holstered his gun and stepped past her while her shocked brain struggled to come to terms with his sudden appearance.

He glanced over the side of the cycle and noted the pilot slumped over, a large hole where his head should be. If he felt any satisfaction of the amazing display of his marksmanship, he showed no sign. He turned his gaze to a machine-gunner. The man's pale, shock-ridden face came into view, his breathing labored. He had a bloody streak running from one temple, and he struggled to orient his hopelessly damaged machine gun at Joe.

Vanessa caught none of this.

"Hey Joey...long time no see, yeah I'm doing fine, so what brings you to Apalachicola?"

He stared down at the bandit, lost in thought, apparently not listening to her.

"In the middle of the forest?"

He appeared to come to a decision.

"At night?"

In one smooth motion he pointed the revolver at the downed bandit and pulled the trigger, sending the man into the afterlife.

Vanessa stared at him, open mouthed, her eyes wide. "Geez! Joey...that guy couldn't do anything to us. Why'd you have to--"

Joe looked at her coldly. "Were we going to carry him, with two broken legs, and where exactly?"

She blinked. "Er..."

"Or leave him here...helpless...for the forest beasts." He continued to stare at her, his face less expressive than a brick wall.

She frowned. This was the most she'd ever heard from Joe in a long while. He was right, in a coldly efficient, ultra-pragmatic sort of way. How very...Josephy of him.

As with any argument she was destined to lose, she switched tactics.

"You haven't answered my question, Joey...What are you out here for?"

He holstered his rifle and stared at her fully.

"You," he said, calmly.

She blinked.

_Ok...that's not exactly the answer I was looking for. Why does this answer not suddenly fill me with confidence?_ She thought warily.

Joe waited for her to make the first move.


	8. Used

A/N: In this chapter we learn a little bit about our heroine and her relationship with her mother...enjoy...

* * *

Time stood frozen for what seemed like centuries as the two former lovers stared at one another.

Vanessa never the less found herself strangely indecisive in the face of this familiar stranger before her. Perhaps it was not so strange, really. Network agents are trained to react to an opponent's mindset, to hide themselves if the opponent seemed suspicious, to manipulate and catch an adversary off-guard, strike in his moment of weakness.

Unconsciously, a good agent will use these principles when dealing with anyone, friend or foe, to give themselves a greater advantage...to know what words to use or what actions to take to receive the best advantage. Perhaps this might seem cold-hearted or manipulative, but then, what is a Net, if not these things?

Vanessa was, despite her impulsiveness (which to her keen eye Joe hadn't seemed to lose over the years either) a very good agent.

This does not explain her indecisiveness when faced with Joe, however.

The answer was simple. She was unable to read the enigmatic gunman, despite how well she had known him from her time with the Network and her teenage life in Bayport. However, because of this, she not only had no idea what he was thinking, she couldn't even guess based on any sort of past behavior he had exhibited. The extent of his interaction with her up to this point in time had been to either ignore her presence completely, or, when she inevitably forced him to recognize her existence, (usually by annoying the shit out of him) he inevitably had fixed her with a strange blank and yet disapproving sort of glance that made her feel...sad.

Yes, that was the word she was looking for...sad. As though he somehow expected better things of her, and she had let him down. Sad, because for some reason this always made her feel ashamed of herself, and Vanessa Beder, Network agent and notorious Assassin Hunter, was not accustomed to feeling ashamed of herself, not on _anyone's_ account. No one else, not even her mother, had been able to make her feel ashamed very often, and yet Joe didn't even have to say anything to her, just fix her with that, despite her every attempt to get under his skin, completely un-annoyed and yet disappointed gaze.

Every time he had done it, she'd stopped pestering him and bothered someone else, and every time, when she finally got up the nerve to ask Joe what his problem was with her, she'd find him ignoring her again. This made her angry, because no one ignored her, at least if they knew what was good for them, so she'd try to annoy him again (the best way to get someone's attention, she had thought) and he'd give her that look that sent her elsewhere, once again ashamed and not entirely sure why. This viscous cycle had continued the entire time she'd known him--unfortunately a short time, the war had ruined everything they had together.

It was probably best that she had never pushed them beyond the breaking point. Then the war had ended, and the members of the Network had gone their separate ways, and Joe had disappeared like the shadow he was. Never looking back at the love and broken heart of the teenage girl he'd left behind.

Now he was here.

Looking at her.

"Me?" she chuckled weakly. "Why Joe...heh heh... had no idea I had that much effect on you." This was safer ground...teasing...this she was good at. She shifted into a fake, perky teenager mode. She was extremely good at it too.

"Still, I suppose I can't blame you...I am one fox of a ninja girl. I hate to break it to you, Joey...but you aren't really my type anymore."

Joe stared down at her coldly, blinked once, very slowly, then cracked the cylinder of his revolver open and dumped the shells into his palm, and pocketed them in one smooth motion. The sudden, unexpected reaction to her taunting caused her to stop mid tease and blink at him, still leaning over while looking up at him, finger still raised.

She dropped it.

"Right...well Joey, its been...real. Seeing you again. I mean that. Really...yeah." She rubbed the back of her head. "I gotta move on...places to go, people to rob and all..."

He loaded new shells into the revolver and holstered it, turning towards the west, and the direction of the not-so-hidden bandit camp--or Assassin base rather.

"We should move soon. There will be more of them," he muttered. He gave the impression that he was not talking to Vanessa, simply stating his preferences to the air.

Vanessa stared at him, still utterly confused. The confusion rapidly turned into annoyance. This..._man!_ How the hell does someone ignore you and yet _still_ manage to completely invalidate everything you'd just said? Infuriating...Dark...Guy! Suffer the wrath of the heartbroken runaway then, and her sidekick...sarcasm!

"Oh yeah, I'm just gonna go wandering off into the woods with a guy who's probably spent more time contemplating his own navel then a quadraplegic. Sounds like a great idea," she snapped at him bitingly.

Joe nodded shortly. "That's the plan."

She gritted her teeth. "I was being sarcastic!!"

Joe cocked his head. "I know."

She blinked.

He jumped down off of the still warm cycle.

"I wasn't," he said without turning around.

She followed him as he strode purposefully away, fuming at his irritating manner. This was worse than just being ignored. There was no cracking this nut, and nut he most certainly was. A cold, sociopathic, scary...unsalted nut. How did he get this way? Had the time since she'd seen Joe really been that bad for him? She didn't even get the impression that he was inwardly laughing at her...he was just empty.

Somehow that was worse.

"You still haven't answered my question, Joey," she said, switching tactics.

"Yes I did. You just weren't listening," he returned, stopping at the base of a large tree.

"Joseph, I don't know where you're from lately, but where I come from, answering a question like, 'why are you here' generally can't be answered monosyllab-- what _are_ you doing?! Are you going to take a pi-"

In answer he sharply kicked the tree with his booted foot, causing the tree to vibrate violently. She gulped. There was a lot more force in that kick then it looked. Maybe she'd better...

What was that whistling noise?

She glanced up in time to reflexively catch her four bladed Network knife before it buried itself in her forehead.

"Gah, Joe! You dick!! You could have killed me!!"

He glanced back at her, just a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "You're welcome."

If it were physically possible, steam would have come shooting out of her ears.

***

Contrary to how it may have seemed, Vanessa was not completely clueless. She was well aware that she was being hunted. You don't get to be a Net agent without realizing certain things. Brand had simply been lucky, catching up to her like that at Cumberland.

She'd sent him on his way with a little reminder that she didn't want to be found, but that was done more to irritate her mother than with any expectation that she would call off the hunt. Vanessa had learned at a young age that her mother was not a woman to be easily swayed, and her plans for her were well known.

It had snuck up on her, turning thirty. Time had nailed her.

There was a time when she would have given anything for a word of praise from that old woman. Pushing herself to become the best agent...running around the globe hunting down Assassins, all of it wasn't good enough. She'd made light of her accomplishments, teased her...all of this only pushed her to search harder for that elusive goal...that shining moment.

Just a benign smile. One without mockery tainting it. She never would have admitted it, not even to herself, but that would have made it all worth it.

She'd started the day with her usual routine, getting up early to avoid the first few tours scheduled to gather about the home she steadfastly kept as her own, despite her mother's none too subtle attempts to annoy her into moving into the "palace." She cleaned up, dressed, ate, then set about her day wallowing in her heartbrokenness and wishing that the damned war hadn't ruined her whole life.

She also went about the day inspecting the few traps she set out to snag unsuspecting criminals, robbers, and possibly an unprepared ex-Assassin if she was lucky.

A guard was currently suspended in one of her more ingenious hanging traps, swaying slowly in the breeze.

She frowned.

"Ahem." The guard cleared his throat and closed his eyes. "Milady Bender. Your mother requests your presence." His officiousness was somewhat ruined by the fact that his ceremonial gorget was currently riding up about half the length of his face, despite his attempts to keep it down.

She narrowed her eyes. This was _so_ like her, lately. Never mind the fact that it was still insanely early in the morning, she wasn't some damn servant she could just order around. She was her daughter, damn it! Why couldn't she be nice for _once_!

"You can tell _mother_ that I'll be there when I'm there, and if she wants to see me so bad, she can damn well come out here and get me herself."

The guard blinked, somewhat put off his game by her tone. This was, after all, a future Mayor of Bayport, not to mention a very dangerous Net. "Er...as you wish, Miss Bender...but, I can't give a message to anyone upside down like--"

WHAM!!

"Urk...thank you. Miss Bender."

"Don't mention it," she replied sweetly, waving as she walked off.

***

"Ok _mother_, I'm here like you asked so what's the friggin' rush, already?"

Where no Vanessa had been before, a very annoyed Vanessa now leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. She'd waited a few hours, not really doing anything, just making a point, then she'd finally showed up.

Andrea Bender didn't acknowledge her presence. She simply continued signing documents, her eyes never raising from the table.

A vein popped out of Vanessa's forehead. "Fine. Got nothing better to do than wait here anyway. You might think you're annoying me, but I can be bigger than that."

Andrea continued with her work serenely.

This state of events lasted approximately two and a half minutes.

She finally snapped away from the wall and snarled at her. "Fine. Screw this, I'm outta he-"

"Come in, and sit down." Andrea said, looking up sternly. This action was so utterly out of character for her that she paled, jerked, then numbly did as she said.

She set down the pen and regarded her.

Vanessa frowned. "Is this about more Assassins? I'm telling you mom, there aren't a whole lot more out there-"

"'Ness, I know this is a difficult concept for you--"

"I mean, there are still a few out there but--"

"There are certain realities that you need to understand child, and--"

"I checked out the crater near Boston pretty good, but that place gives me the creeps so it's possible that--"

"Vanessa!" Andrea thundered, slapping the desktop.

She stopped, stunned.

Andrea sighed and massaged her forehead. "Vanessa...so help me, _listen_ to what I'm saying."

"You're not a Network agent anymore."

Vanessa stared at him like she'd grown a second head.

"I haven't always been the best mother to you, 'Ness. I admit that. Everyone knows, I've pushed you hard. Maybe your father would have disapproved, but he's been gone a long time, and I did the best I knew to do."

Vanessa blinked. This was completely unreal. Andrea _never_ talked about dad. Ever. It was just one of those subjects they both avoided. A briar patch of misgivings and hurt feelings. Truthfully, Vanessa had always gotten the impression that her mother blamed her somehow for her father's death. The guilt that this caused is what pushed her to strive for her approval, to win her love.

Not that she realized that.

A vise began to form around her heart.

"I sent you out into the world with all the knowledge I could impart. I wanted you to experience things, get a little independence, a little self-reliance, before you had to accept your responsibilities. The Network and the Assassins were never really what mattered.. do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?"

Oh she did. She understood perfectly. She'd sent her out there, sun or rain, heat or snow, again and again. When she was younger, she'd cried about it a little...but when your tears fall unnoticed by anyone but you, she'd learned, they were better left unshed. She'd thought she was making her precious Bayport strong again, getting the Assassins that were so important to her. That made _Vanessa_ important to her, and she'd seek that anywhere...do anything for it.

It was all a lie.

The truth was, the captured Assassins were never important to her. Vanessa's life wasn't important to her, everything she'd done for her, wasn't important to her. Andrea was talking on, oblivious to her internal struggle...

Now she understood. She'd been passing the time, waiting until she could foist off her dreams on her...turning her into a perfect little soldier to run things _her_ way.

She looked up, her face hardened into an uncharacteristic, cold mask.

Andrea smiled slightly, mistaking this for a show of support, an acceptance of the burden ahead. She'd make a fine leader. God, she was so proud of her.

"Vanessa...tomorrow you reach your majority. It will give me great satisfaction to see you take your rightful place with your ancestors."

Vanessa was shocked, but she hid the reaction well. How had she forgotten that her birthday was coming so soon?! It didn't seem real, and yet it was...

How had it snuck up on her like that?

Mayor? Her?

Is that what she wanted her to become? Is _this_ the only reason she acknowledged her? Some stupid reverse psychology technique?

Screw that.

"I realize it's a shock, Vanessa, but you mustn't be anxious. The whole of Bayport is watching you. Make me proud."

"M--" She stuttered. Stopped. Took a deep breath.

_Compose yourself Vanessa...damn it. Just get out of this room. Now. Before you kill her_, she thought.

"May I be...excused?"

Andrea sighed. "Yes, daughter, you may. I understand it is a matter of extreme importance. Take the rest of the day to plan your future."

She nodded and left without a word.

She'd actually followed her advice too.

By the time the house was alerted to anything being amiss, she was already puking her guts out stowed away aboard a departing freighter.

Her upset stomach did little to conceal the reality from her, but she hid her emotions very well, considering.

No one was going to use her like that, _ever_ again.


	9. Letting Go

"No."

Joe stopped at her single word and turned to look at her, sensing a difference in her tone.

"I know my mother sent you, Joe. I don't know why she sent _you_, but I know why you're here. I'm not going back there, and I don't want any part of _her_ Bayport," she spat out the name of her home like a curse.

He turned slightly, half of his face concealed by shadow and regarded her with one inscrutable sapphire eye.

"I don't care _how_ scary you look Joey...I've made my decision. Her...you...you'll _all_ just have to live with that!" She shouted this with her feet spread wide apart, her hands braced against her thighs.

He said nothing, simply regarded her quietly.

"Damn you, Joe Hardy. You know what I say?"

Joe blinked. She'd gotten impossibly vulgar from her time spent with the Network. Apparently Arthur had rubbed off on her more than anyone could have guessed. Well, at least she wasn't smoking.

"Catch me if you can, sucker!" she shouted, then turned and ran as fast as her legs could carry her.

Just for the record, that's fast.

Joe closed his eyes, sighed quietly, then shifted his weight imperceptibly and steadied himself.

Vanessa was a small speck getting smaller as it dodged around trees.

She _was_ fast.

Just not fast enough.

A sudden crack and a hiss of displaced air tore into her senses like a rabid wolf. A sharp, numbing pain struck her high in the hamstring, where the leg meets the buttock. The force of impact spun her around and slammed her bodily into the base of a gnarled tree.

She doubled over and clutched her stomach, more from the sudden shock of betrayal then any actual damage from the impact with mother nature.

He'd...shot...her.

Joe. Shot. Her.

A light crunching noise caught her attention and she looked up, blinking away tears. She followed the line of his dusty boots up, past the tattered cloak slightly askew (yet still impossibly cool looking), covering his pale hands. The still smoking revolver held lightly in his hand. Still on up, impossibly high up to his impassive face, staring down at her, that damnable, disappointed expression faintly visible on his countenance.

"You...you shot me," she muttered.

"Yes, I did." He answered, calmly, cooly, like he'd just confirmed that he'd taken out the garbage, or done the dishes.

"You shot me?!" She cried, trembling.

It was a good bet this was not from fear.

"Yes."

"How could you shoot me?!" She cried.

He crouched down and stared her in the eyes.

"Because I had to."

She blinked. This statement was a little too far gone into the depths of psychotic-pragmatic-shit territory for her to even begin to guess what he had been thinking.

"What the hell?!! You could have killed me!!"

He raised an eyebrow. As though this thought had never occurred to him. He started to reach into his cloak for something.

"Don't give me that eyebrow...thing!! You-you... psycho!! What the hell could have possibly--"

"Rubber bullets," he said calmly, pulling out a length of rope.

"Of all the insane...you...what?"

"I reloaded the gun with rubber bullets," he said calmly.

It now occurred to her to check a wound that was certain to be grievous and bloody, given the size of bullet normally loaded into Joe's gun. Upon inspection however, she noted that instead of a lethal hole torn into her leg, she instead had an ugly (and certainly sure to be painful) bruise marring her otherwise flawless skin.

She rounded on him like a snake.

"You think that makes it alright? What the hell were you thinking of you...you..." she stuttered, seeing red, and incidentally, _not_ seeing what was in his hands.

He looked up sharply. "Monster."

She stopped. "What?"

"It's what you're thinking isn't it?" he said calmly.

She cocked her head at him. "What? I...no! Asshole maybe, but...Hey!! What are you doing with that rope?!"

He did not answer her, but then, considering the situation, he didn't need to.

This did not sit with her well.

Not in the least.

***

"You do of course realize that I'm going to have to hurt you terribly. Quite possibly permanently."

Plod. Plod. Plod.

"Yup. This is unforgivable. Completely justifiable homicide, really."

Plod. Plod. Plod.

"If you thought Grey was bad, you ain't seen nothin' yet. I'm gonna make you wish you stayed in that nice, cozy house of yours. Yessiree. Lots of woe coming to you. Woe. Woe on you!"

Plod. Plod. Plod. Smack!

"Ow!! You asshole, that was my face! You did that on purpose!"

If Vanessa could have rubbed her head, she would have done so.

Two things prevented her from doing so. One, she was currently suspended a foot off the ground by an intractable, unforgivable wretch of a man, being carried away towards God knows where.

Second, her arms were currently tied very securely behind her back.

This state of events was intolerable, to say the least. To say that Vanessa was upset was something of an understatement. She could have very cheerfully contorted Joe into many interesting shapes that the Gods had never intended for a three dimensional object, let alone the tall, dark and creepy guy Joe had become. What made it worse was that he didn't even have the decency to carry her like a human being. he'd simply grabbed her around the waist and slung her under one arm like...like a newspaper or something. He was making his way through the underbrush, a piece of which had slapped her in the face as he pushed it aside.

It was the most embarrassing thing she'd ever experienced.

Even if he _did_ smell kinda nice.

Like an old, quiet country shrine, a faint air of unidentifiable but pleasant incense, with just a little bit of dust.

Like a secret.

But that wasn't the point, damn it. Vanessa Bender was no package to be carried and delivered like the day's mail.

She would have her revenge.

Ohhhhh yes.

Joe stopped and looked downward, his eyes searching the gloom. She'd gotten quite a distance away from where he'd first spotted her in her headlong flight away from the rampaging bandits and their mounts. A long, curving chase that had ended up somewhat east and south of the camp itself, and dead east from Joe's cycle. If they were being pursued, Joe figured it would follow the crushed underbrush left in the wake of the bandits, which meant that avoiding that trail was a necessity, if any more conflict was to be evaded. Joe decided to simply make a straight line for his cycle, avoiding the trail for the most part. This seemed to be the best course.

Unfortunately, it was not. Hidden in the foliage in front of him, Joe detected a steep drop off. You ran into these, sometimes, in the forest...the excess of water...a natural cavern, all you needed for a ravine or a sinkhole. He wasn't sure what this was exactly, but it was deep, and wide.

_No help for it, then. Best to skirt it. It shouldn't be too much of a problem,_ he thought to himself.

Unfortunately, Vanessa had other plans.

The time for revenge was near.

Unbeknownst to Joe, his stop to examine the hidden drop in front of him had afforded Vanessa an opportunity to make a nuisance of herself. She'd wrapped her legs around a nearby tree, for what purpose, Joe couldn't even _begin_ to guess, having neither the experience nor the mindset to understand the thought processes of an extremely angry and hurt girl.

However, this being said, he _also_ didn't have the forethought to _plan_ for it, and was consequently caught by surprise, something that happens very seldomly to the ever wary Ex-Network agent. The sudden shift of balance and jerking stop caused Joe to misstep and stumble slightly, and as a reaction he increased his iron grip on the girl in responsible. She squeaked from the sudden change in abdominal pressure, and her grip on the tree slipped slightly, causing the rough bark to come in contact with the edge of the huge bruise on her leg.

She reacted by kicking wildly, wiggling like the proverbial cat on crack, and causing her to shift Joe around until one leg slipped partially down the hillside (almost a cliff actually). He latched his claw of a hand deep into the bark of the very tree Vanessa had gripped earlier, catching the girl by the rope restraining her arms and straining to keep her from falling into the void below her.

She sensed his lack of balance and the strain their position was putting on him, and fought with all her might to get free of him, not sensing--or possibly not _caring_ about--the drop she was suspended over.

Joe's grip on her began to slip.

In that moment, he was forced to make a choice. A choice which, though he had no inkling at the time, would change his life forever, and have monumental consequences not only for himself and Vanessa, but the very world itself.

He let go.

Of the tree.


	10. Lady Alexandra

A/N: Sorry, but I'm telling you in advance that there is no Joe/Vanessa interaction in this chapter.

* * *

For Andrea Bender, pain was like a storm.

Like the hurricanes that sometimes struck the east coast, it was a gale force of aches and sharp, inconstant piercing bolts of agony that threatened to topple her iron will, her determination. The sickness had crept up upon her, stealing her vitality, zapping her enthusiasm for anything but rest.

Andrea could not rest. Sometimes it seemed to her that her people placed more value on perceptions then actualities. To the alert observer, it was obvious that Mayor Bender should be in her death bed, not meeting with officials and carrying on business as usual. The old woman was stubborn however, and if she was determined to pretend as though nothing was wrong with her, her court would, at least on the surface, take this at face value.

Even if the strain soaked her candle with gasoline and lit it at both ends.

Still, there were days when she could almost convince herself that things were as they should be. When she broke through the wall of her pain; to the eye of the storm. It never failed to remind her with the occasional ache that the shackles were still in place, if the chains had been temporarily lengthened. These were good days.

Fortunately for Andrea, today was a good day for pains, if a bad day for anything else. She was not yet aware that it was a bad day, at this moment she was actually in a pretty good mood. It was fated not to stay that way, however, and as usual these days, Brand was the bearer of bad news.

As was custom, Andrea ignored the intrusion of the court messenger who whispered into her bodyguard's ear. The large man nodded quietly and dismissed the messenger, waiting until the boy had left before clearing his throat politely.

Andrea looked up, expectantly.

"Andrea, Frank Hardy humbly requests to speak with you," he announced in booming baritone.

Andrea grunted. "Frank Hardy never humbly requests anything without strings attached."

"On the contrary Mayor Bender, I am simply here to speak to you, no strings attached." Andrea looked past a startled Brand who clutched for his pistol only to realize that a very amused Frank Hardy was holding it out to him. The guard snatched it away but Andrea ushered him out of her office before he could inflict any sort of revenge on the man.

"Mr. Hardy." Andrea waved towards the chair across from her. Frank took a seat, assessing his surroundings and the frail looking woman in front of him.

He wasn't sure what to say. So he lied. "You're looking well--"

"Cut the crap Frank. What is your business here?"

Frank sighed. "I assume _you_ know where he is Andrea."

"And what makes you think that?" she rasped.

"Because Joe isn't stupid enough to go chasing after his ex without some sort of...persuasion first."

"How do you know he's chasing after Vanessa?"

"Andrea--listen I don't have time for this, all I want to know is where you sent Joe."

"I'm sorry, I can't give you that information Frank."

"And why not?" he snapped. The woman sighed.

"Because I don't know where Joe went. I sent him after my daughter who is God knows where. I heard he was the best bounty hunter in this region--"

"Joe is _not_ a bounty hunter--"

"Have you spoken to your brother since the breakup of the Network, Mr. Hardy."

"Of course--"

"Have you _seen_ your brother since you went to Trenton...in person?"

"Well..."

"I do believe that answers the majority of your questions then, doesn't it Mr. Hardy?"

"But I still don't know where Joe is!" Andrea rose painfully from her chair and placed her palms on her desk.

"Frank, no one knows where Joe is except for Joe...and hopefully Vanessa."

***

Lady Alexandra smiled faintly. If she were to get what she wanted--namely power--she would have to do something about it. From past experiences, Mayor Bender had been most unreasonable, so she would just have to take matters into her own hands.

"I have a new task for both of you," she said to the two men in front of her.

If they were wolves, their ears might have cocked forward in interest.

"A man left Bayport several months ago, on an... errand for Mayor Bender. He was a guest in the house for a short time, and his hasty departure was...quite rude. I wish you to find this man and ensure he does not trouble Bayport with his rudeness ever again."

"And does this condemned man have a name?" Reiko asked serenely.

"Indeed he does. Hardy--"

Jaeger perked up. "Hardy. Joseph Hardy?"

Lady Alexandra frowned. "You know this man?"

Jaeger's eyes flickered dangerously. "A passing acquaintance. Forgive my interruption."

Lady Alexandra looked at him strangely, but shook her head. "As you said, Joseph Hardy. He is not to be underestimated. He is reputed to be quite skilled."

"With respect, Milady, so are we." Reiko answered quietly.

"Indeed." Lady Alexandra turned to leave, but paused deliberately, hiding her mouth with one perfect hand. "Oh...one more thing, a trifle really. He may be found in the company of a girl, one who is revered and...protected by Bayport law. If anything were to happen to this girl, it would be a deep blow to Mayor Bender...but accidents _do_ happen, in the barbaric world outside of Bayport."

Jaeger and Reiko looked at one another, a look of understanding passing silently between them.

Lady Alexandra made her way out of the room, speaking without turning. "_Dreadful_ accidents, my friends."

The two smiled grimly at each other. It was a look that said perhaps these two were not so far removed from wolves, after all.


	11. Rain

A/N: Ok, in this chapter Joe has a bit of a schizophrenic conversation with himself, I hope it doesn't get too confusing. The thoughts in italics are Joe's side of the conversation and the thoughts in italics and quotes are the "demon's" side of the conversation. Hope that clarifies it...happy reading...

* * *

Strangely enough, while Andrea Bender was having her good day relatively free of pain, Joe Hardy was discovering new forms of it.

This is not to say that Joe had never felt pain before. In the long course of his life, or existence, as he might have put it, (Joe had turned into a gloomy sort) Joe had been shot, stabbed, blown up, experimented on, maimed, heartbroken, and locked in a coffin of bad memories and regret.

Yes, it is safe to say that Joe was no stranger to pain.

Just, not the sort of pain that comes from being dropped off a large cliff with numerous leafy and not-so-leafy bits to stop his fall.

Fortunately for him and more importantly, the girl he held onto, this fall was not strictly vertical. If it had been, there would have been nothing left to narrate in this story but the eventual disposition of the Joe grease spot that would mark their passing, though it certainly would have made for a short narration.

The gulf into which they had fallen dropped at a 90 degree angle for only about 9 feet, which is entirely survivable, if you know how to fall, which both Joe and Vanessa did.

The problem, was that it then became a 30 degree angle hillside, and not a remarkably clean one either. This was, after all, the forest. The numerous exposed boulders, vines, thorny and otherwise, bushes and scraggly trees (also of the thorned and unthorned variety) provided just enough cushion (though cushion is a relative term) to make the fall survivable.

It also made it take about five minutes.

Joe immediately realized there was no stopping the tumble down the cliff and did the only thing he could think of. He curled into a fetal position and rolled with it, with one important variation. He also realized that Vanessa, unprepared for the fall and with her hands bound, would be unlikely to brace herself for the tumble, and injury... (well, _more_ injury) would inevitably be the result. So he wrapped himself into a ball _around_ the startled girl, which had the unfortunate effect of causing her to curse, bite, punch and kick at him until she was too stunned from the jarring bounces of their impromptu Joe/Vanessa California roll to continue her assault (about halfway down).

The next few minutes became a jumble of confused images as Joe and Vanessa tumbled down the mountain side with all the grace of an overweight and very angry siamese cat being forced down a slip n' slide with obstacles, namely, not very much at all. Joe kept his eyes shut but a catalog in the form of pain proceeded as he bounced between two boulders, through a tangle of thorny vines, not quite cleared a bush of the non-thorny variety, and smacked off a tree.

Vanessa also elbowed him in a very sensitive but not polite to mention location, but fortunately Joe didn't remember much else of the ensuing gravity induced beating.

He lost consciousness.

_"Hello Joe...It's been a while."_ The voice was dark, threatening and soothing at the same time, like silk sliding across a snake's scales.

It was as familiar to Joe as his own.

Joe weathered it as he weathered all things. In silence.

_"Still the stoic, silent martyr I see. How are you holding up, under the weight of your sins, Joe? Tired of the cross yet?"_

He couldn't help himself. The demon always knew how to push his buttons, make him angry. This was a problem. Angry was bad.

Angry was his playground.

_I don't need you anymore. I never needed you._

This evoked that hateful chuckle that never failed to make him shudder. So many voices at once, Joe's own personal army of demons showering him with spiteful mirth. Voices like worlds dying, cold wind howling.

Madness come calling.

_"Joe, my silly puppet."_ The voice made a sound like a snort. _"Your hypocrisy never ceases to amuse the living shit out of me."_

_I am no..._ he started, but paused.

_"Not so sure are we? I kept you alive, you insufferable little speck. Me. When you were all alone in the dark, your hatred for me, for what you'd become, for the man who took your woman, put you there...it kept you sane."_ It paused, thoughtfully.

_"Well...relatively speaking of course."_

_"Never needed me? I _am_ you."_ It chortled.

_No--._

_"Accept it. You owe me, Joe. You owe yourself. Let it out, let me out, just...let it go, all of it. Be free of pain...of sorrow, of loneliness. I can give you the oblivion you seek, but you are too cowardly to give yourself. Be free of guilt, Joe. Don't tell me you aren't tired of that insufferable burden."_

Joe was tired. Bone tired. _Soul_ tired. He would be lying if he said the demon's offer wasn't somewhat attractive. He'd spent a large portion of his life after Iola's death, after IDA, feeling like he had no place in this new world. The demon knew him too well, was too cunning. Two things stopped him though.

Fear. What did _he_ know of oblivion? Joe had come close...too close to madness in his little room. It had forced him to take a long hard look at himself, in the dark, with no illusions. His time spent with only himself for company had taken him to an important realization.

He didn't like himself very much.

What if oblivion was just eternity with one's mistakes, with no way to set them right?

What if all of those he'd wronged down the years were waiting for him with open, eager arms?

Too many what ifs.

Even this might not have been enough. More important to Joe was responsibility.

He'd given his word. To Andrea, yes, but to himself, more importantly. If he turned into his other self, Vanessa didn't stand a chance, for if _he_ didn't get her, her multitude of enemies certainly would.

And so, Joe snatched himself back from the brink of the abyss and tiredly picked up the gauntlet of life's challenge once more.

He sputtered awake, coughing up brackish water and crouched on the balls of his feet, swaying woozily as his head screamed pain at him. His head, no, his whole body felt like one big bruise. He checked himself for damage, (important things first, his gun, other weapons, then himself) noting that while none of his weapons were damaged, the few curative items he'd kept on his person had, being either strewn about the course of his descent, or crushed and ground into his cloak.

He stood up, flipped his wet blond hair out of his eyes and cast about, looking for Vanessa.

He found her relatively none the worse for wear about ten feet away (relatively, meaning it looked like she'd been hit with a mud bomb the equivalent strength of a tactical nuke) dazedly inch worming her way to freedom down the west bank of the foot wide stream that ran at the base of the gully they'd ended up in.

She was making surprisingly good time, too.

He sighed, staggered to his feet, (looking down, he realized he didn't look much better) then started after her.

Thus began the low point of Joe's life, to date.

Every time he reached down to pick her up or help her, she snarled at him. Finally, he gave up and simply followed along side her, waiting for her to give up.

This took about 45 minutes, by Joe's reckoning. In that time, (she was fast on her belly, but not _that_ fast. Moreover, she was perfectly capable of standing up and walking. She was trying to make a point, however, about what an ass Joe was being. Joe, unfortunately, didn't get the symbolism of this act) he studied their surroundings. The gully was narrow, only about fifteen feet across, but the sides of it jutted upward, the sky mostly obscured by foliage. Joe estimated that the walls were probably fifty to sixty feet high, too high and too steep to climb easily, and since he'd lost _all_ sense of direction from the pounding he'd received, he figured the path of least resistance (namely, the one Vanessa had chosen) was as good a choice as any.

As if things couldn't get any worse, as night fell, it began to get cold.

She finally stopped, and Joe stopped with her.

She awkwardly rolled to a sitting position and glared death at him, her face covered in dried mud. It was a tribute to her outrage that Joe avoided looking at her, but it was also quite possible that he didn't care.

As usual, it was hard to tell with Joe.

"I'm not taking another step, Joe," she announced.

She immediately regretted this statement, as she hadn't been walking a whole lot.

He pointedly raised an eyebrow, sitting down across from her.

"Shut up, Joey," she muttered, too tired to get properly outraged at the moment. Telling Joe to shut up tickled her sense of irony, but she was also too tired, cranky, and upset to laugh, either.

As often happens in the forest, it started to rain. Like most rains in a torrential area, it started as a few small droplets, then skipped the drizzle step and proceeded immediately to a nice, steady downpour. They were shielded somewhat by the canopy overhead, but they were all too soon soaked. The upside of this was that the rain made short work of the mud and blood from numerous small cuts that clung to their skin.

The downside was, it was miserably wet and cold.

"I h-h-h-hate you, J-J-Joey," she chattered, miserably, on the verge of tears but _damned_ if she was going to visibly cry in front of him. She huddled her legs to herself in an effort to keep warm.

Then Joe did something that went down as the second most shocking thing to happen to date in her admittedly short life. The first being when Frank had admitted to never having seen an episode of 'I Love Lucy'...but that's beside the point.

He suddenly stood up, stepped next to her, looming for a moment. She blinked at him for a moment, staring up as rain dripped from his sharp nose and the tips of his blond hair. His face was expressionless, as usual, his eyes brooding.

Then, just as suddenly and without warning, he sat down behind her, his long blackclad legs going to either side of hers, soiled boots splashing into the mud.

"J-Joey...what the hell are you--"

"Shhhh," he whispered. It was an odd sound, and it took her a moment to reconcile such a comforting noise coming from Joe.

"Geez, Joey, did you hit your head harder than--"

She stopped when tentatively, as though he hadn't quite decided this was the right thing to do, his arms curled around her. He draped the cloak over both of them and sat, silent and unmoving.

She started to protest this, after all, this was Joe, the man who'd _put_ her in this situation, not to mention the fact that this was also the man who'd broken her heart so many years ago, but he wasn't making a big deal of it, and he wasn't squeezing or crowding her really...

It was odd...

_He's probably only doing it for some practical reason. Yeah...that's it. He's conserving body heat. That'd be just like him. Pragmatic to the bone._

"I still hate you, you know," she muttered, but she made no real effort to get free of him.

This didn't explain how comfortable, how...natural the situation felt...but it was good enough for her tired mind, at least, for now.

The trials and exertions of the day had taken their toll, and it was warm and while not cozy, at least not as miserable as it had been. Joe made a hell of a good umbrella, she had to admit. He was so tall that the cloak didn't leave much of her exposed, in her huddled position, though it was somewhat awkward, considering the fact that her hands were bound behind her. They were pressed up against his chest. She could feel how rhythmically it rose and fell.

She was falling asleep and fighting it, but it was not a battle that she was going to win. It was impossible to remain as pissed as she had been that day and not wreak an emotional, mental, and physical toll on one's self.

"...Hate you..." She murmured, yawned hugely, then quickly dozed off.

Joe, for his part, simply stared off into the distance and said nothing in reply, but then, Joe seldom did anymore.


	12. Once a Killer

It played over and over again in his mind like a broken record player.

He struggled on the edge, trying to save the Assassin who had killed Iola. Every instinct in his body yelling at him to let go, but his innocence telling him to hang on. But Al-Rousasa didn't...

"_So, did you like my little presentation, Joe? It's one of your better moments. I like to call it, 'Portrait of a Professional Psychopath.'"_

As usual, the demon's voice was smug and oily in his head, like a spot of mold on an otherwise pristine apple.

_That was a long time ago,_ he thought back, but even he could taste the insincerity of his comeback.

"_You and I both know that time means little to someone like you, Joe. Once a killer, always a killer. Isn't that how it works? You are and always will be a wolf, Joe. No matter how many sheep suits you put on."_

Joe was silent. After a pause, the demon continued.

"_I was just thinking you needed a little reminder. You've been acting a little too...heroic of late. I wouldn't want you thinking that girl should be looking up to you, Joe."_

_There's no danger of that,_ he thought tiredly, then paused. There was a defensiveness that was seldom present in the demon's tone. It aroused Joe's curiosity.

_Why should you care?_

"_I don't_," the demon answered, a trifle too quickly. "_You do. I'm just making sure you know how these things end, Joe. Wolves don't protect little girls. They eat them all up."_

_Vanessa is a strong woman. If it comes to that...she can take care of herself. She's done it before._

"_Reeeally? Then why, pray tell, are you here, Joe?"_

_Because she's also even more stubborn and single-minded than..._

The demon's voice turned sickly sweet. "_Than who, Joe?"_

_You know who, demon._

"_I just want to hear you say it."_

_What does it matter? She's dead._ Saying that, thinking it, still hurt, even after all these years.

"_Not for you, Joe._ _Not. For. You." _The demon's laughter faded out once again into blessed silence.

At least, for the moment.

***

Vanessa awoke to severe amounts of pain.

Not to say that her current sleeping arrangement wasn't comfortable. Well, it wasn't, actually, but that wasn't her companion's fault.

Then Vanessa remembered that it basically was, and this annoyed her all the more.

Every muscle in Vanessa' body screamed at her for the abuses she'd put it through up to this point. Vanessa's brain reminded it that this was a dictatorship, not a democracy, and her body fell silent, brooding and plotting vengeance.

She groaned and opened one sleep encrusted eye. With sight came awareness of other little details, like the weather had gone from frickin' freezin' to good Lord it's hot.

Funny, how nature will do that to you.

Another, more pressing need caught her attention. She bit her lip.

"Joey...are you awake?" she croaked.

Joe's reaction was subtle, but noticeable. He breathed in deeply, then let it out in a sigh that mussed her hair.

"Geez, could you answer, please?" she said, irritated.

"Yes," he answered.

Though he didn't clarify which question he was answering.

Not that it mattered much.

"I think it's stopped raining." She said awkwardly, then cursed her stupid brain for coming up with such an idiotic remark. What was with this guy, that he made her turn into a drooling moron?

Jow didn't answer for a long time, then he sighed again. "Yes."

"So, um...does this work with all the girls, or just me?" she said, trying to break the one-sided tension a bit.

In answer he stood up and stepped over her, his joints creaking in an oddly comforting manner.

"Jerk." She stuck her tongue out at him.

He turned and stared down at her, an unreadable expression on his blank face.

She avoided looking at him, fidgeting slightly. "Anyway... I, uh... kinda have to..."

He didn't even bat an eye.

"That is, I gotta go... you know."

He blinked.

"Geez Joey! Do you have to be such an insensitive _prick_ all the time, or is it just with me? What is it about me that makes you such an asshole?! I gotta pee! You happy now?! Do I need to draw a damn diagram for you?! Oh wait, I can't! My friggin' hands are tied. Gee, I wonder who did that!! Asshole!!"

He took a single step around her side, then crouched down, fiddling awkwardly with her bonds. She felt them loosen, and the somewhat sluggish circulation returned to them, giving her pins and needles. She rubbed her wrists.

"Thanks, Joey. Why the hell'd you tie me up, anyway?"

He gave her an un-amused look.

"Oh yeah...I kinda ran away," she answered her own question.

"That reminds me..." She looked him seriously in the eyes, adopting a quizzical expression rather than an angry one. Which was not to say she wasn't still angry, just that her need to know why he'd done it was more important to her than letting him know she hadn't forgiven him.

"Why did you shoot me, Joey?"

He looked at her cooly for a few moments, then raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said you had to go to the bathroom."

She pouted at him. "I do, but I wanna know." She leaned forward.

"Tell me!" She ordered, then noticed that their faces were considerably closer than the conversational topic strictly called for. Embarrassed, she leaned back. "Please?" She'd never tried polite before with Joe. It might be worth a try.

_Gee, ya think?_

He regarded her for a moment, then sighed. "Have you ever tried to save someone who was drowning?"

She blinked at this sudden, unexpected answer. "No...what the hell does that have to do with--"

He continued, blandly. "Someone who's panicking forgets everything they know, about swimming or anything else. They just react."

She frowned, but quietly.

"If you just go in and try to save them, chances are they'll end up dragging you down with them."

She narrowed her eyes, not liking where this was going.

"When it comes right down to it, someone who's unconscious is a lot easier to save then someone who's flailing around," he finished quietly.

She thought about this for a moment, then scowled at him. "I wasn't panicking. Nor was I drowning, Joey."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's not the point."

"Well then what the hell _is_? Oh I get it, I'm _not_ as stupid or clueless as you people seem to think, and you know what Joe? You're just like Andrea, you think you know what's best for me? That you can just come in and run my goddamn life?! Why is it that nobody thinks I can decide what's damned best for me!? Well the hell with you, Joey! I-"

"You're right."

"Damn you! I'll don't care what y--... huh?"

He sighed. "You're right."

"I am?! I mean, yeah, so..." she deflated. "You really irritate me, you know that, Joey? I had a good head of steam going there."

He shrugged. Only a little shrug, but a shrug nonetheless.

She stood up. He followed her.

"Well, I..." She stopped, looking around, as though for the first time. Severe cliff faces faced her to the north and south, and east and west the gorge continued until the natural bend of the walls cut off the view of further down.

"Where the hell are we?"

He raised an eyebrow again. "I thought you had to go to the bathroom."

"I just said that to get to you to take off those ropes," she said flippantly. "We've moved past that, Joey. Try to keep up."

He sighed.

"Well, where the hell are we?"

"I thought you weren't interested in my opinion," he said. Then blinked, as though surprised at himself.

She took it completely in stride. "I never said I wasn't interested in you, Joey...just that you don't have any right to run my life. Up to and including shooting me in the leg and tying me up, then taking me somewhere I already said I didn't want to go."

He sighed. "Point taken."

She brightened. "Does this mean you aren't taking me back to Bayport?"

"No."

"Dang."

He turned to the east. "We were headed in this direction before we fell into this crack. We might as well continue until we find a spot that's easy enough to climb out."

She grinned at him. "You know, this is the most I've ever heard outta you in a while, Joey. Should I be writing this down? Is this quotable Joe?"

He started walking east.

She followed after a short time.

"Don't get used to it," he said, after a while.

"Oh my God. Was that an attempt at humor?"

Silence.

"Nice try, Joey. Your delivery was off, though."

More silence.

"You kinda have to snap 'em back for it to be effective. Like, five seconds or less."

Still more silence, but Vanessa could have sworn she saw Joe smirk, if only for a nanosecond.


End file.
